


How I Spent My Summer Vacation I thru XXIV

by starshine24mc



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-05
Updated: 2001-11-05
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starshine24mc/pseuds/starshine24mc
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.





	How I Spent My Summer Vacation I thru XXIV

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Goddess Michele

How I Spent My Summer Vacation  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: June 19, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: The reference to Mr. Whatcott, is in reference to Bill Whatcott, a crazy fundamentalist here in town who organized a heterosexual family pride day to declare his misguided opinions on abortion and homosexuality. He actually claimed that heterosexual unions are the only relationships that will keep people safe from "AIDS, other STDs and broken hearts." Who says all the nuts roll down to Florida?  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

Part one: Slow Motion Walter (Powder Blues Band)

Walter Skinner sighed contentedly, and let the smoky blues music flow over him like warm liquid velvet. The disc in the machine by the bed had already played through three times, but he didn't mind. Point of fact, he hadn't noticed most of the songs the first time around, having been distracted by other things.this made him smile and glance over at his companion.

Fox Mulder was lying asprawl on the bed, arms and legs akimbo, eyes closed, and swollen lips creased in a blissful smile.

Walter reached over and ran a hand possessively over Mulder's chest, and one eye opened to regard him with something like gratitude.

"Walter." Mulder's voice was silky and low, pleasant to Walter's ears much like the music playing in the room.

"Hmmm?" He continued petting his lover, absurdly pleased with the way Mulder twisted under his hand like a cat, to achieve more contact.

"Marry me."

Walter chuckled appreciatively and let his hand roam lower, over Mulder's stomach, circling there for a moment, then moving still lower-

Mulder caught his hand and brought it up to his lips, peppering knuckles and palm and fingertips with tiny kisses that tickled and aroused at the same time.

Walter turned his body and shifted down on the bed until he was lying on his side, facing Mulder, who likewise turned with a smooth fluidity that allowed him to keep his grip on the other man's hand.

Their legs entwined instinctively, and they played footsie for a moment. Walter added another hand to the proceedings, and Mulder pushed forward, trapping said hand between their bodies.

They touched without words for several minutes, soft caresses that were meant to be more loving and playful than arousing, since both men had already achieved their usual spectacular orgasms earlier in the evening.

"Is this round two?" Mulder asked breathlessly as Walter's arms went round him, forcing full body contact, and he felt himself responding to the other man with the beginnings of another erection.

"Maybe." Walter pressed feather-light kisses to Mulder's face in much the same way that Mulder had kissed his hand earlier, light touches of mouth to flesh that weren't so much kisses as samples, tasting warm skin, rough stubble, light sweat.

Their mouths met, and Walter rolled onto his back, bringing Mulder with him so the lighter man lay atop him, their bodies pressed neatly together. He felt Mulder's hands on the back of his head, and he gave way to him as he plundered Walter's mouth greedily, tasting every inch of tongue, tooth, gum, constantly moving and seeking and reaching.

Mulder released his mouth with a gasp, and nuzzled at his throat. Walter caught his hair with one hand, running his fingers through the dark unruly strands, then clutching tightly when Mulder ran his hands down his sides to his hips and thrust his legs apart so that he was lying between them.

"We need to talk," said Walter.

Mulder's head came up so quickly it startled Walter, and that, coupled with the throaty "huh?" that accompanied it, made Walter laugh out loud.

"Now?" Mulder demanded, not angry, but definitely not in the mood for conversation. Walter kissed the frown and said:

"Yeah. I think so."

"Do I have to move?" This question was muffled as Mulder slid back down Walter's body a little to resume licking and sucking on his neck.

"Yeah." Walter took hold of him and turned again, neatly depositing him on his side of the bed before he could protest. Mulder glared at him for only a moment, read something important and needing in his dark brown eyes, and sighed melodramatically.

"Dear Mr. Whatcott-what you said about homosexual relationships is true; they do lead to heartbreak."

They smiled at each other, then Mulder cupped the side of Walter's face gently and asked, "So, Walter, what's on your mind? Aside from the amazing blowjob you're going to give me when this little talk is done, that is."

This earned him a weak chuckle, and a barely perceptible stroke up his side, but when Walter spoke, his expression was grim, his tone somber.

"Do you ever feel like just going away, Fox?"

If nothing else gave away the seriousness of the moment, the use of his first name did. Mulder thought a moment before replying.

"Of course I do. I think everyone with any sort of responsibilities in their life thinks about running. And the more responsibility you have, the more you want that freedom that seems to constantly elude you."

"I've booked some time off."

"Oh?"

"I shouldn't have. I mean, with Scully off with the baby, and Doggett and Reyes just starting this investigation, and the budget reviews coming up and-"

Mulder covered his mouth with his hand.

"Where would you go, Walter?" he asked softly, and pulled his hand away.

"I don't know exactly. I mean, I have some ideas, but-well maybe I should just stay.forget I said anything. I should-"

The hand was back, cutting off his words. Mulder had propped himself up on one arm, and was staring intently at him.

"Do you want to go alone?" If Mulder knew he was flinching slightly as the words slipped quietly out of his mouth, he gave no sign. But Walter was instantly aware of the importance of the question. He kissed the fingers still covering his mouth, chasing them as Mulder dragged them away from his lips to slide down his chin.

Without warning, Mulder found himself back in Walter's arms, held tightly, hands trapped between their bodies. Walter's grip was iron and steel and unrelenting, and Mulder couldn't have escaped, even if he wanted to. That touch, coupled with his next words, eased a heart that didn't know it needed comforting.

"Will you come with me?"

"Well, I'll have to check my day planner, but-" He couldn't help but smile as Walter took him seriously for a moment, and he added a simple, "of course I will."

Walter loosened his hold on the other man, relief flooding him. Mulder regarded him solemnly and a little curiously, and Walter waited patiently for the inevitable questions about destination, purpose and scheduling.

"Can we have sex now?"

Walter laughed and Mulder pounced on him.

To be continued......

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: June 22, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

Part 2

"the minute you let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better-"

Mulder shut off the CD player as he paced around the living room, picking up things and putting them down again restlessly, holding his cel phone with one hand and waiting for the party on the other end to pick up.

"Scully."

She sounded a little out of breath, and this concerned him.

"Hey, Scully, it's me. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I was just in the other room with mom and William."

"Hey, say hi to your mom for me. How's baby Bill?"

"A handful already. But mom's been great, and we'll get by. Mulder, where are you?"

"I'm with Skinner. Listen, Scully, I need you to do something for me."

"No alien autopsies, Mulder, I'm on maternity leave." He could tell by her tone that she was teasing.

"Nah, nothing like that. I just need you to feed my fish."

"Are you going somewhere, Mulder?"

"We are." He emphasized the word 'we'.

"Is Walter okay?"

Mulder realized suddenly that they were all guilty of the same thing-using first names to indicate a level of seriousness. He wondered briefly about a profession that had so shaped all three of them that it became impossible for Scully, Skinner and Mulder to be Dana, Walter and Fox unless a crisis was presented to them. He made a quick vow to try and break the habit, then immediately broke the vow.

"Scully, I don't know. He seems fine, but he's taken a leave of absence, and he wants me to go away with him."

"Sounds romantic." Again with the teasing lilt, and he could hear the smile, the one that made her blue eyes sparkle mischievously.

"I don't think so."

"Is this about Krycek, do you think?" Mulder had confided in her the details of the Russian's demise, and she had wondered about its effect on their ex-boss, her partner's lover, and most of all, her friend. She suspected Mulder had a few issues there, too, but surprisingly enough, she trusted him to be able to handle the situation better than Skinner, despite the latter's apparent sturdy psychological appearance. At least, sturdy compared to Mulder.

"Maybe. You know how he is."

"How long will you be gone for?"

"I-I'm not sure. A week. Maybe two. He hasn't said, and I'm just going with the flow here."

"He hasn't mentioned a destination?" She seemed surprised, and he realized he wasn't the only one shocked by the impulsiveness of Skinner's actions, although, if he knew his lover at all, he suspected this was something that had been brewing in Skinner's mind since the moment Krycek had re-entered all their lives.

"Nope. And people say I'm the impulsive one."

"Okay. Here's the deal. I'll keep the mollies from starving to death on one condition."

"Name it."

"Call me."

"That's it?" He was surprised, not so much at the request, but at the tone of concern in her voice, and the way his heart warmed to it.

"Just check in every once in a while. Let me know where you are. Let me know how you are-how he is. And let me know you haven't killed each other."

This made him laugh.

"You got it, partner." The word slipped out before he could stop it. There was a pause on the line, and then she was back with that same tease in her voice.

"If we were still partners, you'd be ditching me without a phone call, Mulder."

"Point taken, Scully. I must be mellowing in my old age."

"Or being tamed, maybe."

It took him a moment to understand the Shakespearean reference, but when he did, he snorted.

"Maybe."

"He's been good for you." She sounded less light-hearted now. "Maybe this is your chance to reciprocate."

"Could be," he agreed.

"So, keep in touch. Bring me back a souvenir."

"Sure. Give Billy a hug for me, okay." Neither one of them missed the catch in his voice, and Scully wished for the millionth time that the baby was his.

"Of course."

Mulder heard Skinner's heavy tread on the stairs.

"Gotta go, Scully.thanks."

"Anytime, Mulder."

He shut off the phone and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then turned to face his lover with a smile.

"Are we good to go?" he asked. Skinner shrugged and dropped a duffel bag at the door.

"Is Scully going to feed your fish?" he replied.

"Hey, no fair eavesdropping!" Mulder exclaimed.

"I wasn't. I didn't have to."

Mulder knew it was true, and part of him hated that he was so transparent, while another part of him relished the fact that his lover knew him so well, and liked him-hell, maybe even loved him-despite himself.

"All right, Yappi, have it your way. Yes, Scully's taking care of the fish. She says we're supposed to bring her back a souvenir."

"I'll keep that in mind." He regarded Mulder with a dark, serious expression. "Fox, I-" he began tentatively.

"Don't say it, Walter. You know me well enough to know I wouldn't do this if I didn't want to."

"Stubborn." But he was smiling as he said it, turning the mild insult into something like a term of endearment. Mulder grinned back and gave him a sharp hug.

"It's a noble trait in some societies," he said. Then he picked up Skinner's duffel, hoisted his own backpack over one shoulder, and jerked his head in the general direction of the door.

"Lead on, MacDuff," he said.

Skinner wanted to say more, wanted to tell Mulder how much this meant to him, why he needed to do this, and why he needed the other man to understand. But the words weren't there, even if the sentiment was, and the only reply he could find was to open the door, and hold it open as Mulder slipped through. He took a quick look around the apartment, shut off a last light, and closed and locked the door behind him.

to be continued...

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: June 25, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: This chapter is dedicated to Brent, who bought me a new coffee maker, which no self-respecting writer can live without.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

Part 3

".I found out long ago, it's a long way down to holiday road."

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" The ten-year old whine that Mulder lent to his words nearly drowned out the radio, and Skinner suspected that there were probably dogs barking somewhere in pain at the sound.

Mulder bounced in his seat, barely restrained by his seatbelt, and grinned madly at Skinner, who sighed and tried to ignore the adorable smart-ass riding shotgun in the Blazer with him.

When Skinner didn't take the bait, Mulder pouted briefly, arms crossed, lower lip protruding even more that usual. Skinner sighed again, and resisted the urge to reach over and pinch that thrust out lip, an act of punishment that he remembered from his own childhood.

When neither exuberance nor full pout mode achieved the desired effect, Mulder knew he had to pull out the big guns. He unclasped his seat belt and moved closer to Skinner, who gave him a quick, curious glance, but remained mute and turned his eyes back to the road. Mulder scooted closer still and now just the stick shift of the vehicle separated them. Mulder turned towards the passenger side door so his legs were away from the gears, and nudged his head against Skinner's shoulder. He was ignored, so he did it again, harder. Skinner reached out one hand towards him--

\--and shifted gears. Mulder made a thoroughly disgusted noise, and Skinner, although he didn't look over, couldn't help but smile. It made his face ache a little, and he realized it was probably the first one all day. And while this wasn't a particularly new thing, he realized he was being a little unfair to Mulder, who hadn't voiced any complaint or query since they had left Crystal City behind several hours ago. He had been content to simply go along for the ride, playing with maps but not asking, playing with the radio, but deferring to Walter whenever he changed the station. He'd washed bugs off the windshield and pumped gas, offered to drive if Walter got tired, and bought drinks and snacks out of his own pocket, including sunflower seeds, which he carefully shelled into a separate bag so as not to mess up the truck's interior.

Okay, so maybe he was being a lot unfair. But Mulder did these things, and many more, with such simple ease and so naturally, that it never even occurred to Skinner that he didn't want to do them, or, even if he did, that he might want to know why the hell he was doing them.

Mulder's voice interrupted his dark reverie.

"Okay, Walter, about this romantic getaway-" As he spoke, he pulled Skinner's arm away from the wheel and draped it across his shoulders, shifting a little to rest his head in the pocket between his arm and his chest. "Let me help you with the romantic part."

Another sigh, another smile, and he squeezed Mulder tight. A moment later, he had to loosen his grip to gear down as the lights of the next small town came into view, and the speed limit dropped.

"What about stopping for the night?" Mulder asked, sitting up again as they entered yet another town that he'd missed the name of on the way in, despite having read it on a map at some point earlier.

Skinner gave him an inscrutable look. Mulder couldn't decide if he was thinking it was a good idea, or if he was thinking at all, but he blundered on regardless, feeling uncomfortably adrift in this situation.

The idea of running off with Walter Skinner had at first sounded like one hell of an idea. After the rapid and near deadly events of the last few months since his apparent return from the dead, Mulder felt like he hadn't had time to breathe most days, let alone come to grips with the world and his place in it. The only time he felt truly safe and sound, sane and sure, was the time he spent in his lover's embrace. And so when Walter had suggested a road trip, he'd jumped at the invitation, more fearful than he could say at the thought that Skinner might be abandoning him.

"I just mean that, I think we have a long drive ahead of us-" He paused and saw Skinner nod nearly imperceptibly, although he didn't even think his lover was aware he had done so. "And this place looks clean, safe-no aliens, no succubi, no back stabbing deputy directors-"

"No children of indeterminate parentage," suggested Skinner. There was enough dryness in his tone to suggest that he was trying to tease Mulder, and not make a judgement call.

"See," replied Mulder. "We're both tired. Come on, Walter, look, there's bound to be a hotel around here somewhere. Think about it-a hot shower-I'll wash your back-we can order room service-no corn chips-a nice warm bed-I promise not to hog all the covers-" He couldn't think of anything else to add to the argument, so he just offered Skinner his best pair of puppy dog eyes, and a small grin.

It all sounded wonderful to Skinner, but more than that, he thought that by offering this to him, Mulder was in fact deflecting his own needs, and if he had learned nothing else in the time that he'd been with the spookiest profiler in the FBI, it was how to do a little-scratch that--a lot-of reading between the lines.

Without replying, Skinner slowed the vehicle a little more, and peered out into the rapidly fading daylight to search for a place to stay for the night.

The town was neither big nor small, just a typical American small town in most respects, and it didn't take long to find that the tallest building on main street, if you didn't count the steeple on the church at the end of the block, was the Plains Hotel.

Skinner pulled into one of the slant parking spaces out front and shut off the truck. He turned to Mulder, who was looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and suspicion, and took his face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the rough stubble on his cheeks and chin, then brushing over his lips with same.

"Bring the maps," he suggested. "After supper, we can go over the route."

The huge smile he got at that was like coming out of the dark and into a well lighted home.

To Be Continued...

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: June 25, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: R  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, and a little shot of Monday, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: This chapter is for Bertie, cos I think it's hot, Chad, cos I feel like it, and my good friend Thomas, who helped with the dirty bits!  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

Part 4

".I don't need to try to explain I just hold on tight and if it happens again I might move so slightly to the arms and the lips and the face of the human cannonball I need you I want you."

Skinner gently closed the bathroom door, cutting off the sound of Mulder flipping channels on the TV, and stared with some dismay at the tiny room, and equally tiny bathtub.

The tub was small and cramped, a washed out almond colour with day-glo orange rubber daisies stuck to the bottom of it. Skinner decided that staring too long at them would either blind him or render him sterile, so he glanced at the faucet instead, giving it a dubious look, then turned on the taps.

More than a trickle, though far less than a torrent, the water being forced through the taps was lukewarm at best, despite the fact that he'd opened the hot tap all the way.

Beggars can't be choosers, though Walter as he quickly stripped out of clothes that smelled of gas stations, dust and junk food. At least the water was running clear.

He stepped into the tub, sneered once at the daisies, and fumbled with the shower knob.

The showerhead leaked rust for a moment, then the water pressure kicked in, and the spray hit him square in the chest.

No amount of adjusting, pounding or swearing would raise the water up any higher, and he was just about to give up and say to hell with the whole thing, when Mulder stepped into the tub behind him.

Two strong arms went around his waist, and he could feel the other man press his body tightly to every inch of him. In the cramped confines of the tub, it was likely that there wasn't any choice, but Skinner chose to feel flattered.

Mulder rested his head on Skinner's shoulder, and they both looked at the water splashing Walter's chest. From the next room over, they heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and the water pressure dropped dramatically, then crawled its way back up to about two thirds of it's original strength.

Walter sighed.

"It's not exactly the Ritz," Mulder agreed. He ran his hands along Walter's sides and bit softly at his shoulder.

Walter tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and thought it could be worse.

"I'd ask you to turn around," Mulder whispered, "but I don't think there's room enough in here for that." He reached around to Walter's stomach, pressed his palms flat against rock hard abs for a moment, then slid his hands up to Walter's chest and back down again with such exquisite, deliberate slowness that Walter was already hard by the time his skilled touch reached his cock.

"Oh, man, that's good," he groaned.

"It should be. I've had enough practice on myself."

Walter's laugh turned into something wordless and needy as Fox stroked him softly but relentlessly. His awareness was narrowing to focus solely on his groin and the pleasurable sensations emanating from it, but he was still dimly aware of the growing excitement of the man behind him. Grasping at a last coherent thought, he forced Mulder's hands away.

"Hey!" Fox exclaimed. "I was playing with that."

Walter grinned and turned suddenly in the confines of Mulder's arms, using the daisies to keep from slipping. Only then, with the still running water of the shower splashing his shoulder blades, did he realize that the hot water was pretty much history.

"Let's get outta here." Walter emphasized his point by taking hold of his lover much the same way the younger man had done for him.

Mulder didn't need to be asked twice.

Walter shut the water off and they clambered out of the tub, barely paused to dry themselves, paused a little longer to kiss deeply, then scrambled for the bed-

Which was, of course, hard, too short and smelling of commercial detergent.

Neither man cared.

Walter saw that Fox had put the necessities out on the nightstand, presumably before joining him in the bathroom, and he offered his lover a simple thank you for his foresight that consisted mainly of forcing Mulder over onto his back and biting and kissing his chest while stroking his cock. He thought maybe Fox was trying to say something like you're welcome, but, just to make sure that he understood how truly grateful he was, Walter headed south, where his mouth joined his hand, and Mulder nearly came off the bed.

"Oh-oh-oh-" He seemed to be stuck for words, and while having his balls cradled gently in Walter's strong hand, and his cock completely swallowed in Walter's hot mouth didn't exactly make him any more articulate, it did change the sounds he was making into something more affirmative.

"Yes, oh, yeah, oh yeah."

Slipping gently away, Skinner crawled up the bed to grab the inevitable condom and lubricant.

Without thought, Mulder began to roll over onto his stomach.

Skinner caught him on his side, held him tight to his body for a moment, then released him to roll on the condom and warm the lubricant in his hand, whispering, "Don't move."

Mulder froze in the act of reaching for himself.

Walter regarded his lover's back for a moment, noting with some satisfaction and increased arousal the way that Mulder was holding himself so still, holding his muscles so tight that they were fairly sizzling with unreleased energy, causing little shivers to race up and down his body.

With one finger, he tracked one of the shivers from the base of Mulder's skull to the tip of his tailbone, leaving a slick trail of lube to join the sweat starting to form on his lover's back. Mulder shook harder, and an incoherent noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, tumbled from his mouth.

"You were right," Skinner whispered close to his ear as he slipped a finger inside him," I'm glad we stopped."

Mulder's reply was to throw one leg over him and shove his hips back greedily.

After a few more moments of stroking and stretching and finding that certain place that made Mulder suddenly find religion, or at least cry out for God, Skinner held him firmly with strong hands on both hips, and with one hard thrust was deep inside him.

He felt more than heard Mulder's gasp at the initial burn of entry that no amount of foreplay could prevent, and he reached around the younger man, placing one hand on his stomach in a reassuring hug, and stroking his cock, which had begun to flag at the pain of penetration, with the other. He held himself completely still except for his hands, and felt the shift and play of Mulder's muscles as he gradually adjusted and his arousal re-awakened.

A sibilant hiss, which had originally begun it's life as "I love you Walter Skinner" but had lost something in the translation, passed Mulder's lips and he pushed forward into Walter's hand, now slick with both lube and pre-cum.

Skinner pulled him back with that firm hand on his abdomen, and Mulder pushed forward again, stroking himself with Walter's hand and conveniently sliding up and down Walter's cock at the same time. The sensation was unlike anything Fox had experienced before. Walter was still holding himself motionless, letting the increasing pressure and movement of his lover carry him towards orgasm. He squeezed Mulder's cock harder as his thrusting became more erratic, and continued pulling him back after every stroke.

To Mulder, it was like being rocked by the ocean, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through him as he was tossed to and fro like a rowboat on stormy seas. Just as he was about to cum, Walter pulled him back one last time, but didn't release him to push forward. He clung tightly to him, released his cock to softly stroke his balls, and thrust brutally into him, his hips barely moving, his cock buried in him to the hilt.

They came simultaneously.

Mulder blinked sweat out of his eyes and moaned as he felt the last warm pulsing of Skinner's cock inside him, and the stroke of crisp hair on his back as Walter took great lungfuls of air, and his chest shifted behind him. Mulder's breathing was just as ragged, and for several minutes neither man spoke. Finally, Mulder moved a little, smiled stupidly at nothing, and whispered, "That never happened before."

He felt Walter pull carefully out of him and leave the bed, and he shivered with the loss of contact, the loss of heat. Skinner was back in moments, however, with a warm wet cloth. He touched Mulder's shoulder, and the younger man rolled bonelessly onto his back. Walter matched his grin as he reached forward and wiped him clean with great care. Again he disappeared, and Mulder closed his eyes, not opening them until he felt the covers being pulled out from under him, then tugged up to his chest, followed by a squeak of protest from the bed as Skinner fell heavily beside him. Mulder snuggled into warm waiting arms, and then both men looked down at the end of the bed, where their feet were sticking out from the covers and hanging a good six inches over the edge.

Mulder sighed

"I don't know if even the Ritz could have made that any better." Skinner whispered into his hair, and Mulder laughed a little.

"I'm glad you're here, Fox," Skinner added.

"Where else would I be?" Mulder looked up at him, gave him a dazed post-coitus grin and a sloppy kiss on the chin, then tucked his head back down onto the other man's broad chest.

Skinner reached over with one hand to shut off the bedside lamp, and felt that, while the journey was just beginning, he'd found the first sign of his destination.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation pt 5  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: PG for kisses in the rain  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, a little Monday, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: Schmooptastic! With special thanks to Mik, for helping me see Walter more clearly...  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

Part 5

".standing in the rain, with his head hung low, couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show."

Skinner turned down the radio as the hard rock replaced some generic ballad, and glanced up at the sky, which had been a promising blue when they had set out this morning, but was now a dismal grey. Darker clouds smudged the horizon with the promise of rain, and, as if to emphasize the point, lightning flickered in the distance.

He and Mulder had taken turns driving after bidding a hasty farewell to the Plains motel, wanting to get out before the cleaning staff discovered the disarray that the bedsheets were in. There was something both pathetic and oddly humorous about skulking out of a dive motel in a backwater town, and they had shared an almost embarrassed laughter over their 'escape'.

Having discussed most of his travel ideas with Mulder the night before, Walter felt more at ease. He gave up the truck to his lover for the first part of the day, and found himself more relaxed than he thought he might. Though not prone to many acts of self-evaluation, if pressed, Walter would have had to agree that Walter Sergei Skinner and control issues were pretty much synonymous. Until now. Until Mulder.

It was a relationship based on trust first. The physical attraction between them was a given, of course, although both men had spent time kicking themselves for not acting on it sooner, exchanging enough "I never knew, never could have imagined." stories to fill several diaries, but the trust had been there first. Even when their respective jobs had put them at odds with one another, even when it seemed that everything and everyone in the Bureau was against Mulder, or Skinner, or both. And even when they had nearly come to physical blows over issues real or imagined, or in one case psychotic, the fact remained that they had trusted one another. Mulder trusted Skinner enough to respect him, knowing that Skinner was backing him up, even when it didn't appear to be the case. Not even Scully had been able to shake his belief in the man. And Skinner trusted Mulder enough to give him as much free reign as was humanly possible and still keep drawing a paycheck. Oh, sure, he'd fought him on occasion, mocked him even, when his pursuits into the paranormal seemed to border on the absurd. But never had Skinner doubted the integrity of the man himself.

And all that had led them both to this place. To a relationship that still seemed to surprise the both of them, that still seemed to be the most amazing thing to have happened to either one of them, and that meant more to them than most anything else on the planet. Or off of it, for that matter.

So when Mulder offered to drive for a while, Skinner gladly took him up on it, handing him the keys without a second thought, and fitting himself comfortably into the passenger seat.

He'd napped some during the day, read aloud from a battered old detective novel he'd stuffed into his duffel bag on a whim, and listened to his lover prattle on about any subject that happened to pop into that complex mind of his, from the Knicks chances in the playoffs, to the latest word on the Teletubby conspiracy, and everything in between. And he was content.

After a late lunch consisting of coffee and sandwiches bought in a cafe attached to a gas station in the middle of nowhere, and consumed sitting in the back of the truck at a rest stop just a few miles from the middle of nowhere, Mulder shyly asked if Skinner would mind taking over for a while.

It was then that Walter noticed the dark shadows under his lover's eyes, and the film of fatigue dulling his usually bright eyes. And he suddenly realized that they had been driving for a day and a half now, with only a brief stop, which had lent itself more to love making than to sleeping. He seemed to remember Mulder slipping out of the bed at some point, but had chalked it up to a dream when he found him smiling in his arms upon waking the next morning. And Mulder had made no argument when he suggested they leave right away, making an early start to the day, but Skinner knew Mulder was not a morning person. He'd spent too much time in 7 am meetings with the man not to know that he performed one hell of a lot better after noon, preferably after a pot of coffee, sometimes two.

Without a word, Skinner had taken the keys, and as they headed back out onto the highway, and late afternoon turned into early evening, they had slipped into a comfortable silence, broken only by the endless stream of soft music on the radio.

When Skinner stopped for gas, the air was full of darkness and humidity. Rain was coming, and he didn't have to be psychic to know it.

"Did you want me to drive?" Mulder asked him as he paid for the gas, and yet another bag of sunflower seeds.

"I think I'm okay for a while yet." Mulder hadn't slept, and Walter knew it.

"Just say the word," Mulder insisted as they got back in the truck. "If you get tired-"

"I'm fine." He didn't mean to sound so gruff, and he didn't think Mulder was offended by his tone, but for the next few miles, the silence wasn't so comfortable. Mulder turned up the radio, and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, staring out his window at the passing landscape, which was growing darker by the minute. Walter wanted to say something, to apologize maybe, or just make some sound to knock back the tension he felt growing between them, but couldn't find anything that wouldn't sound trite, or stupid.

He flinched at Mulder's touch, then turned as Mulder tightened his grip on his arm, and offered him a small, sweet smile, and a nod that seemed to say nothing and everything all at once. It was a short moment, but Skinner felt something shift inside him, and then everything was all right again.

"Mulder." he started.

Mulder pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhh, I'm sleeping." Another tiny smile and he turned away, re-crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

Skinner found himself grinning at nothing, then grinning at his lover, then reaching for the radio, to turn down the volume.

"Don't," said Mulder, not opening his eyes. "I like it."

Skinner wasn't sure when Mulder's relaxed state had deepened into real sleep, but he was definitely out of it, and Walter was glad. Mulder was a sketchy sleeper at best, suffering everything from insomnia and nightmares to occasional bouts of somnambulism. Walter had become as adept at brewing chamomile tea as he had at giving head, and he nearly laughed out loud thinking that the results were often the same in both cases.

Lightning flared suddenly, much closer than before, followed closely by the grumble and curse of thunder, and the first fat droplets of rain hit the windshield. Skinner switched on the wipers, and only a few minutes later had to turn them to the high setting as sheets of rain came down with a vengeance.

Visibility turned from poor to non-existent, and the fogging windows didn't help. Skinner cracked the driver's side window and immediately got splashed by cold rain for his efforts. And the rest of the windows didn't clear. More lightning crackled, and thunder boomed like a bad Garth Brooks song, seemingly right on top of them. Skinner made a decision, and pulled the truck over to the side of the road.

Shutting off the ignition, he sat quietly for a moment, just watching the storm through the misty glass of the windows. He didn't consider himself a romantic, by any means. He wasn't a man who was moved by rainbows or sunsets. He didn't get all dewy eyed over dawn's approach, or puppies frisking in a field at dusk. But there was something about the unrestrained power of a thunderstorm that he had come to appreciate. The strength of it, the wildness. It never failed to move him, to remind him of the unpredictability of the world, and his own small place in it. And speaking of unpredictable.Deciding that this was one storm he didn't feel like experiencing alone, he unclasped his seat belt and leaned towards his still sleeping lover. He had to smile at the man who often woke in the middle of the night if Skinner so much as rolled over in bed, but had managed to stay unconscious through one hell of a storm. The smile slipped off his face as he realized just what this trip-this pilgrimage-this whatever the hell it was-what kind of toll it was taking on Mulder. And they weren't even two days out of the city.

He rearranged his expression into something less grim, and reached over to brush his hand over Mulder's unshaven cheek. The younger man twitched in response, but didn't wake. A second stroke, this one more deliberate, provoked a shiver and a wordless noise of complaint as Mulder turned his face away from Skinner's touch.

"Hey, c'mon, Fox, wake up," he whispered, still touching him lightly, not wanting to startle him. Despite the softness of tone and touch, Mulder jerked awake with a startled "Huh?" his hands coming up to shield his face. He looked around wildly for a moment, half-focused on Skinner and muttered something at him that sounded like "Is it still Monday?"

Skinner frowned and tried to make sense of this.

Mulder's sleep dulled eyes cleared and he sighed deeply, scrubbed a shaky hand over his face and through his hair, and tried on a smile.

"Sorry. Dream. Sleepin'."

Skinner had been working on his Mulder-To-English dictionary for some time now, so this made complete sense to him.

"I know." He wasn't sure what to say next. There'd been no reason for him to wake Mulder. As soon as the storm passed, and it had to pass eventually, they'd be on their way, with no change in plan. To say he hadn't wanted to be alone would have been a sign of weakness, and he didn't want to reveal any vulnerability. Not when he didn't know who to trust.

But this was Fox Mulder.

"I didn't want to sit here alone." Skinner said abruptly, giving his lover a sharp look, as if daring him to comment.

Mulder yawned at him.

"Where are we?" He peered myopically out the window, squinted, then rubbed at steam. This didn't help.

Skinner consulted a map, and replied, deadpan, "Just a few miles south of Buttfuck, Nowhere."

Mulder grinned, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "You're funny, old man." He then made a significant observation.

"It's raining."

"Yes. Yes it is."

Thunder punctuated Skinner's words, and Mulder jumped in spite of himself. His lover threw a quick and sure arm around his shoulders.

"Thunder," he explained.

"Well, yes, Walter, I know that." Mulder's tone was peevish, and he tensed under Skinner's arms, feeling like he was being treated like a child.

"I knew you knew that-" Skinner sensed Mulder's discomfort, and decided to try and allay it. "I think I was telling myself more than you, Mulder. Sometimes I forget."

"What do you mean?" Walter had piqued his curiosity, but not so much that the next clap of thunder didn't make him twitch. He sighed and leaned closer to Skinner and took comfort despite himself as Walter continued.

"For years after I came home-"

Mulder didn't have to ask from where. He knew a part of his lover would always be young, scared and fighting an un-winnable war in an unimaginable jungle somewhere on the far side of the moon just as surely as some part of himself would always be young, scared and losing badly at Stratego against a sister he'd never see again. He wondered briefly what would happen if young scared Walter and young scared Fox ever came up against one another, and quickly decided that would be too nasty to contemplate.

"-every time it rained, I was back in that hell, getting myself shot to shit! Each thunder clap was another gunshot." He grinned ruefully, remembering. "It got so bad that Sharon used to make me sleep on the couch if there was even a hint of rain in the air."

"I wouldn't make you sleep on the couch," Mulder muttered, and Skinner used his translating skills to realize that what Mulder was really saying was, "You wouldn't make me sleep on the couch, would you?"

He leaned in to kiss Mulder's hair, and whispered, "Of course not."

And more thunder made them both jump.

After a minute or two, Mulder turned a serious expression on the other man, and asked softly, "Walter, what are we doing here?"

"Watching the rain," he replied without hesitation.

"All right then." And for now, it was.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 6 - The Logical Song  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: R (I remembered what sex was)  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: Pre sunrise with Supertramp and our intrepid heroes! Thanks to Fred, for being so impatient--makes me feel loved.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

At night, when all the world's asleep, the questions run too deep, for such a simple man.

Mulder awoke stiff, sore and with an achingly full bladder. It took a moment to process everything in his head into something approaching logic, but this was no cause for alarm. Every morning started this way for him, with his mind already racing before his body could catch up. So he did what he did everyday, and cautiously opened the filters of his mind to let the stream of consciousness trickle in:

*.no heat-did I forget to pay a bill? Gotta pee. Have to get up and-Scully! The baby! No, wait.they're fine, they're at home, and I'm-I'm-I'm paralyzed. Oh, hell, what was I-is this an alien thing? A post-hypnotic thing? A-have I been shot? Oh, god! Wait, what's that--*

Mulder opened his eyes with a gasp and discovered Walter Skinner draped over him like the world's sexiest wet sandbag. He found himself grinning even as he was still shaking off his mind's disturbing images and trying hard not to wet himself.

He gave Skinner a rough but affectionate push, which had no effect whatsoever. A second nudge, and Skinner's response was to shift himself around, still asleep, until even more of his weight was pressing down on Mulder, and his arms went round him tightly. He butted his head into Mulder's chest once, like a man adjusting a pillow under him, and went right on sleeping.

"Oof! Get off me," Mulder exclaimed, rather unkindly, but feeling unable to be pleasant in light of the fact that he was on the verge of making an even more unpleasant mess all over himself.

He shoved hard at the sleeping man on top of him, and Skinner grumbled something wholly unintelligible and finally rolled off of Mulder, who scooted out from under him and through the back of the truck.

He returned to the truck some moments later, relieved but a little confused to find himself awake just as dawn was approaching, having apparently spent the bulk of his sleeping time in the back of the truck with Skinner.

He had vague memories of watching rain with his lover, talking to the man, touching him.

Less vague was the memory of Walter's mouth on his, of his hands roaming over his body, of.

In the cab of the truck, with the rain pouring down and obscuring them from view as effectively as it obscured their vision, at some point, they'd made love. Oh, not in the technical tab A slot B way-they were both a little too old for the acrobatics involved in a full-fledged car trick-but in a slow, sweet way that had left them both satisfied.

He remembered Walter's voice, low and growly, whispering words of love and lust in his ear with an almost desperate urgency. And he remembered saying them back.

He had absolutely no recollection of getting the back seat pulled down, or of moving from the front of the truck to the back. He supposed Skinner had maneuvered the two of them back here, and he supposed that meant that he'd been more exhausted than he thought.

He wasn't tired anymore.

He climbed back into the truck bed and sat down close to Skinner, who still lay curled on his side and snoring softly. He looked relaxed, disheveled and, to Mulder, incredibly sexy.

And there was so much more room in the back of the truck.

Skinner awoke stiff, not sore and with a lapful of Mulder. He discovered that he had been awakened by the feel of his pants and briefs being gently pulled down as Mulder took it upon himself to turn his morning hard-on into something with more carnal purpose. He groaned loudly as his cock was enveloped in wet warmth, and shifted his hips forward. With eyes still closed, he reached blindly for his lover and found thick soft hair to wrap his hands in.

Mulder took him without urgency, licking and sucking gently, and letting the big man's hands guide him in his ministrations. Soft moans and whispered affirmations greeted his actions. He continued on in this way until he could feel a sudden shift in the body under him, a tightening of muscles, and a clenching of fists tugging at his hair, wordlessly seeking completion. He redoubled his efforts and was rewarded with a loud groan as Skinner bucked his hips once, twice. And on the third thrust, Mulder swallowed Walter to the base and reveled in the taste of his orgasm as it boiled out of him and into his eager mouth.

More soft kisses and licks followed, until Skinner was trembling from over-stimulation, then, with a last gentle kiss to the crown, Mulder slipped up his lover's body until they were face to face, and gave him a saucy grin and a peck on the cheek.

"Mornin'," he drawled as he settled into Skinner's arms.

"I could get used to that wake up call, you know."

Mulder was absurdly pleased to hear Skinner still breathing hard.

"Don't get too used to it, big guy," he warned. "Remember, turnabout's fair play."

In response, Skinner reached down to cup his groin with one big hand, but after one careful squeeze, Mulder pulled his hand away. Skinner looked surprised, then wounded, and Mulder kissed both expressions off of his face with a thoroughness that sent a new wave of arousal through Walter's body, and he wondered again for the hundredth, or thousandth, or millionth time, just how he had managed to live so long without this man in his life, in his bed, in his heart.

Mulder pulled away with a sigh, and Skinner gave him a questioning look.

"Don't get me wrong, Walter, car tricks definitely have a warm spot in my heart-" For some reason, Mulder blushed, and Skinner made a mental note to ask him about his past 'car tricks'. But later; Fox was still talking.

"And it's not you-I can see that look in your eyes-that 'I'm too old, too bald, too ugly' face you make that you think I don't notice."

Skinner's guilty expression was there and gone in a heartbeat, as he quickly masked his recognition of the truth in Mulder's words, and the resentment at being caught. Sometimes life with a psychological profiler was not all it was cracked up to be.

"Too bald?" he asked archly, raising an eyebrow. Mulder laughed, as Skinner had intended, then sobered, but couldn't completely hide a smile. It barely quirked his lips up, but his eyes twinkled merrily, and Skinner couldn't help but return it.

"You know what I mean, Walter. Being deliberately obtuse is my job, remember?"

"I thought that was just a hobby."

"Smart ass. The point is, Walter, that it's not always about getting off. Don't misunderstand me, it is definitely a perk that I don't intend to give up. But this morning was just my way of saying 'hey, good morning, I'm glad to be here with you'." Mulder kissed him for emphasis. "I don't expect payback, and I hope you realize that." His tone had turned serious, and Skinner bit back the "payback's a bitch" comment that wanted to come out of him, choosing instead to take Mulder's face in his hands, give him a level look and softly whisper, "thank you."

It was a tender and serious moment between two men for whom tender was almost a non-entity and serious was a constant, but the combination worked for them on every level.

And then Mulder jerked away from Skinner and said,

"I am way too wired for this. Let's get outta here, and find a place where we can spend the day that's not a gas station, a rest stop, or the cab of this damned truck."

"Sounds good to me."

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 7 - The Goodbye Girl  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: G  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, a subtle Beyond the Sea and a wee shot of Detour, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: Remember, it's 1-800-C-O-L-L-E-C-T. More Scully chat.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

"Don't say goodbye to the goodbye girl, just say see you soon."

"Hello? Hello?" Mulder spoke loudly into his phone, heard a garbled "just a minute!" barely audible over the generic pop song playing in the background, and then the sound of Pluto faded away and Scully was there, saying, "Mulder, is that you?"

"Are you having a party without me, Scully?" he mock whined.

She laughed. "Not me, Mulder, the baby. He already knows what he likes, and he likes it loud."

"Don't encourage him, Scully. I'll bring back some Hendrix for him. Gotta make sure the kid doesn't wind up with bad taste in music."

"It's not so bad, Mulder. Where are you? I can hardly hear you."

"I know. The reception here totally blows, and not in that good way." He could hear her giggling again. "We're in-" He named a town she was unfamiliar with. "We're still heading north, and I think we'll be over the border tomorrow, at the rate we're going."

"Canada, Mulder? What the hell for?"

"I have no idea, Scully, but he says there's a place there he went to once before, and that he just needs to be there again. Could be Vegreville for all I know."

"Or Moose Jaw."

It was his turn to laugh. Her next question was serious though, and he responded in kind.

"How are you doing, Mulder? How is Walter doing?"

"I'm fine, Scully. Getting it on a regular basis, and enjoying the scenery." He thought he could almost feel the heat of her blush through his Nokia. "As for Walter, well, he seems better. Not happier, exactly, but you know."

"No goofy I'm-okay-you're-okay grins, huh?" Scully thought she understood.

"Not hardly. I mean, it's been seven years, Scully. How many smiles do you remember?"

A quick memory search revealed files marked with such titles as 'confused frowns', 'angry tense jaws' and distressed but grim resolve', but she only had one smile come immediately to mind. The night the two of them told her they were seeing each other.

"You make him smile," she said softly.

"Not really, Scully, but thanks for the vote of confidence." He seemed almost embarrassed by the kind words, and quickly changed the subject. "How are things there. What's the good word from Agent Doggett? Has Kersh taken up flying yet?"

"Nope, but he's been suspended pending review. Doggett made sure of it. He and Reyes make a good team, y'know."

"A believer and a skeptic?" he asked archly, "How can that possibly work?"

"Good to hear that razor sharp wit is still intact. Do you have all the paperwork you need for a border crossing, Mulder? Did you need me to-"

"Everything's fine, Scully." He interrupted her smoothly. "He never told me where he was taking me, but I grabbed everything I could think of before we left, and passports were one of them. It's no biggie. We'll make out just fine. You just take care of J. Edgar Junior."

As if in response, he heard a loud wail on Scully's end of the phone.

"Is that the boy wonder-wow, he *is* surly, isn't he? Are you sure Walter isn't-"

It was her turn to cut him off. "Mulder, you and I both know you're more likely to be having Walter Skinner's baby than I am!"

"Scully, I'm shocked!" Actually he was oddly pleased at the risqué comment, recognizing it for the latest step in acceptance taken by a woman who's most lasting concepts of homosexuality had come from the Catholic version of Christianity, coupled with the OPR handbook. Hardly encouraging, but he knew she was trying her best for him, and the thought warmed him, almost like she'd physically reached through the phone and hugged him. He could hear William still blatting loudly.

"Mulder, I-"

"I know. Go make the kid happy, Miracle Mom. We're fine."

"Take care of yourself, Mulder. Take care of Walter."

"We'll take care of each other, Scully."

"I have to run, Mulder, keep in touch."

"I'll call ya from Moose Jaw."

He hung up on her gentle laughter, shut off the phone and tossed it on the bed. Adjusting the towel around his hips, he dug into his duffel bag, pulled out clean clothes, and threw them next to the phone. Then he found the television remote, a show he liked and space beside all his crap on the bed, and propped himself up on pillows with a sigh. He set the remote down, then immediately picked it up again and adjusted the volume so he could hear it over the sounds of the shower running and the unmistakable baritone of an apparently not-so-surly Assistant Director mangling "Joy To The World"

To Fox Mulder, right this moment, even Moose Jaw sounded good.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 8: Butterfly  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: July 12, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Note: There are dark times ahead, so the boys asked for a shmoop break-works for me!  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

"I don't deserve you. Unless it's some kind of hidden message to show me life I precious. Then I guess it's true. To tell the truth I really never knew, till I met you I was lost and confused."

                

Walter Skinner stepped out of the bathroom and just stood in the doorway of the hotel room for a moment, enjoying the view. His lover didn't notice him, being engrossed in a rock video blaring out of the television.

Still towel-clad, Fox Mulder lay sprawled across the hotel bed on his belly, waggling his hips suggestively to the rap music and singing along lustily.

"You're my butterfly, sugar, baby." As he turned and caught site of Skinner grinning at him, the words faded away and his cheeks flushed bright crimson. But he recovered quickly enough, jumping up from the bed and turning down the volume on the television in one smooth motion.

He crossed the room in three long-legged steps and planted a kiss on the corner of Walter's mouth, nuzzled his cheek briefly and made a face when he discovered the older man hadn't shaved yet.

"I figured I had plenty of time," Skinner said, rubbing the two-day-old stubble with a rueful grin.

"That's right," replied Mulder. "the whole day-wow! What are we going to do with a whole day off from our quest, Walt?" Mulder knew the abbreviated form of his name was more annoying than endearing to Skinner, but he just couldn't help himself. Too much sleep was making him cocky, he supposed, and he mentally steeled himself for a surly complaint, or at least a stern frown. He was surprised when instead, Skinner pressed a lingering kiss on his mouth, gave him a saucy grin and replied.

"What are we going to do? Anything. Everything. Think extreme possibilities." he paused, and his grin intensified into something wicked, ".Foxy."

"Bastard." That was even worse than 'Walt', thought Mulder.

"You don't want to get into a pet name war with me," Skinner warned, but his eyes still twinkled merrily, "Remember, I was married for seventeen years."

Mulder matched the older man's good humour with his own. It was infectious that way. "Bastard is not a pet name."

"It is when you say it," Skinner retorted.

"No, it's not. 'Walt' is a pet name. 'Wally' is a pet name. 'My burly love-badger' is a pet-oof!"

Mulder fell back on the bed with a grunt as Skinner tackled him. Towels were lost in the first few seconds of the scuffle, but neither man noticed.

A furious tussle ensued, and when the smoke had cleared, Mulder was on his back with Skinner straddling his body, his knees holding the other man's arms pinned to the bed.

"Get off me!" Mulder was laughing even as he yelled and struggled.

"Love-badger?" Skinner asked sternly.

"Burly love-badger!" Mulder corrected him.

Skinner cocked his head to one side pensively, then gave Mulder an experimental poke in the side with one finger. So pleased was he with the resulting girly scream that he did it again, twice.

"Stop it! Just stop!" Mulder squirmed and bucked, but Skinner was unshakeable. "Oh, man! You are in big trouble, mister! Just you wait, Badger-man! When I-" The rant was cut off mid-stream as Skinner dug both hands into Mulder's very vulnerable, very ticklish ribs, and reduced his lover to helpless thrashing and eye-watering laughter.

When Skinner stopped to regard him again, Mulder picked up where he had left off, albeit a little breathlessly, and not just from laughing.

"You're not playing fair here, Walt." There was that nickname again, and Mulder wasn't even aware he'd used it, although Skinner noticed immediately. "Now let me up. Are you listening to me? Get the hell off of me already. Christ! You've made your point, now-"

Skinner put a hand over his mouth. Mulder's eyes bulged comically, and his thrashing movements increased tenfold. Skinner realized that if he held on for just eight more seconds, he would win a gold belt buckle.

Keeping his hand pressed firmly to his lover's face, he bent close to his ear and, after nipping at his earlobe just for the pleasure of feeling the vibrations of a groan against his palm, he whispered, "Love-badger says Mulder needs a pet name worthy of him."

Sitting up again and readjusting himself on his lover's stomach, he smiled nastily and declared, "Punkin."

More vibrations against his hand, these ones nearly audible, and a darkening of hazel eyes told him exactly what Mulder thought of that, and he snickered, then relented.

"No? Hmmm." In a frighteningly bad French accent, he suggested, "My little apple pie filling?"

He was nearly dislodged from his seat by Mulder's opinion on that.

"Hmmm, let me think." Apparently part of the thought process was to turn Mulder's head and attack his ear again, nipping gently at it, then licking delicately at the lobe and the skin just behind it. For the first time since this conversation had began, Skinner realized that they were both naked. And that suited him just fine.

He sat up again, pausing along the way to give his lover a quick kiss on the nose.

"Poodle?" he offered.

He thought he could make out the words behind the hand, and they weren't flattering.

"I like Poodle," he said. "But maybe something butcher.hmmm." As he was thinking, he reached behind himself and lightly brushed Mulder's thickening penis with his fingertips. The body beneath him nearly fishtailed, and Mulder's eyes got even wider.

"Well, yes," Skinner said, "Slut is definitely an option here, but it's a little demeaning." Another soft pass of his fingers and he could feel the head prodding at his backside. "And not very romantic," he added. He felt puffs of hot breath on his hand, and hectic red spots flared up in Mulder's cheeks.

"Puppy," Skinner declared, sliding off of Mulder's arms, down the length of his torso, and across his burgeoning erection. He trapped the howl with his hand, then replaced his hand with his mouth, and Mulder's lips clamped over his.

As soon as he had feeling back in his arms, Mulder wrapped them around the older man and clung to him tightly, thrusting his hips forward and gasping at the soft friction created as their cocks collided, dueled, slid over one another.

Skinner forced his tongue deep into Mulder's mouth, chasing the other tongue like a puppy chasing it's tail, and the thought made him smile and pull away.

"Puppy," he said again. Mulder was in no mood to argue.

Skinner burrowed his way under Mulder's chin, paused to lick and bite at the throat that was suddenly bared to him as Mulder threw his head back, then moved on, blazing a wet trail of kisses down his lover's chest.

Mulder had thrown his arms open wide as Skinner shifted to allow the other man to move down his body. Now he wrapped his long muscular legs around him instead, holding him fast and rubbing harder against him.

As he suddenly found himself immobilized, Skinner decided to enjoy his captivity, and he ground his hips into the trembling body beneath him, receiving a long drawn out moan for his efforts, which he turned into a squeal and a whimper as he worried one small nipple between sharp teeth, and pinched the other with thumb and forefinger.

They rocked their bodies together in tandem, creating delicious, sweat slick friction that moved them closer to the edge.

Mulder pulled Skinner off of his chest and dragged his face up for a kiss.

"Puppy." Skinner's voice was rough with need, and Mulder felt his balls tighten at the sound. He decided abruptly that Skinner could call him any damn thing he wanted to, so long as he could and did make his body feel this way. He bit at Skinner's lips and lapped at his chin, his movements growing more restless, his kisses more sloppy. Skinner didn't seem to mind.

Suddenly Skinner arched his back and the bucking of his hips became wild and erratic. Mulder felt the other man's cock pulsing against his own, then liquid heat as Skinner fell forward just as suddenly, his orgasm erupting out of him with a shout. It was enough for Mulder, and he came right along with his lover, their seed mingling to cover their chests and bellies.

Skinner reaquainted himself with an earlobe, and Mulder put his arms around him again, stroking up and down the broad back and shoulders and relishing the trembling of well used muscles under his hands. His own body jerked and gently shook as Skinner nibbled at his skin, then licked, nuzzled and blew softly.

When both of them had rediscovered the joys of oxygen, Mulder pulled Skinner's face up to his own and gave him a gentle kiss.

"There's got to be rules, Walter."

"Huh?" Post-orgasm lack of higher brain functions were impeding Skinner's usual quick response time to this latest Mulder segue, and the befuddled look he gave the younger man was enough to cause him to laugh out loud, then kiss him again, bolder this time, even as he winced at the stubble burn he could feel on his mouth, cheeks, nose, even his chest.

"About this puppy thing." he added by way of explanation.

"Mmmm, puppy." Skinner replied, murmuring the term of endearment into the other man's mouth. Mulder pulled away with determination undermined only by a small whimper.

"Rule 1-only when it's appropriate." He declared, giving Skinner a hard look that was quite unconvincing when coupled with his kiss swollen mouth and sex-mussed hair.

"As in, 'I love you, puppy'?" Skinner asked innocently. Mulder rolled his eyes.

"Rule 2-never on an unsecured line."

"Paranoid puppy," Skinner's voice was low and agreeable, like a wild cat purring it's way through a field of catnip.

"And Rule 3-this is the important one, Walter, so pay attention. Never, ever, EVER in front of Scully."

"Mmm, wouldn't dream of it." With what felt like the last of his strength, Skinner rolled off of Mulder and onto his back, swiped ineffectually at his sticky stomach and chest, and turned his face towards his lover.

"Unless it's appropriate, and the line is secure," he murmured.

He closed his eyes and felt Fox laughing as he kissed him, then felt the bed shift as his lover rose with a groan. A moment later he felt the rough drag of terry cloth across his body as Mulder used one of their forgotten towels to wipe him down with.

"Breakfast, Walter?" Mulder asked as he climbed back into the bed and snuggled up close to Skinner.

"Call room service," he replied, throwing a lazy arm around the other man. "Ask 'em for Puppy Chow for two." He drifted off to sleep on the sound of Mulder's laughter.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 9: Drinkin' With Jesus  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: a shmoopy day in the life.with cocktails, and just a dash of foreshadowing.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

"Are you drinkin' with me, Jesus?  
I can't see you very clear.  
Are you drinkin' with me, Jesus?  
Would you buy a friend a beer?"

***

"You're drunk."

"You're right."

"I'm always right."

"Oh, would you listen to this!" Skinner cuffed Mulder good-naturedly across the back of his head with one large hand, a move that Mulder had mostly learned to ignore in the past, although, if pressed, he might have admitted to finding the bear-like gesture "cute", or "endearing", in that slightly possessive way.

However, more beer than he was used to, coupled with having burned off most of the calories consumed during the day one way or another, resulted in him stumbling a little under the glancing blow.

Though nearly as drunk as his companion, Skinner had more of an affinity for it, and he caught Mulder before he could fall, held him at arms length until he recovered his balance, then hugged him sharply.

"*You're* drunk."

Mulder just grinned and hiccuped at him.

Skinner laughed softly, then kissed his lover thoroughly and hungrily, feeding him a thousand unspoken emotions with his lips and tongue.

Mulder leaned into the embrace, letting Skinner hold him up as he returned the kiss, tasting scotch and lust in equal amounts and relishing the sharp taste of both.

After a time, Skinner pulled away and offered a smile, sweet and sexy and beautiful for it's rarity.

"That was nice," he said.

Mulder knew that he wasn't just talking about a drunken kiss here in the parking lot of a honky-tonk bar on the outskirts of town, with the only ambience provided by moths flitting around yellowing parking lights, and the whiny strains of a Mojo Nixon ballad drifting out of the propped open bar door.

"Yes. Nice."

A lame word at best, but Mulder couldn't find the sober part of his mind's thesaurus to search for anything else. The whole day had been 'nice'; from room service breakfast to this moment, and everything in between.

They'd spent the entire morning in bed, sans agenda, sans clothes. An experiment with the bed spread, orange marmalade and a half-bottle of champagne that Mulder had ordered with breakfast had resulted in both of them having to take another shower, this one together, then having to make amends in the form of a hefty tip for the housekeeping girl who was left with the job of cleaning up the mess. Despite Mulder's protest, Skinner didn't think what they'd done could be considered art, modern or otherwise.

They soon discovered that the town was rustic and quaint, but not overly so. Modern conveniences meshed with old-fashioned charm, making it a place with plenty to do, and with enough variety to hold both men's interest.

They were both pleased with their finds at a pottery collective set up in a warehouse near their hotel. Skinner spent a long time chatting with a one-armed man who had adapted his craft after the war and was now more than a little skilled in sculpting Vietnamese masks and other artifacts. The only thing Skinner was happy to have brought back from the war with him was an appreciation of Asian art, and he picked out a mask to take home with him, a simple human face, but one layered with deceptive glazes, that when held up in the right light revealed the colourings and markings of a jungle tiger, golden of eye, tawny and black.

If Skinner was pleased with his purchase, Mulder was downright ecstatic about the gift he picked out for Scully. Walter didn't understand the significance of the pure white nativity scene, complete with manger, angels and assorted livestock, but found himself laughing out loud when, after the sale was complete, Mulder borrowed paint from a woman creating landscapes out front of the warehouse, and, after double-checking on the hue with the artist, proceeded to turn the Virgin Mary's hair just the right shade of red, and then, with a finer brush, he put black glasses on two of the wisemen, and insisted that Scully would love it.

Mulder made Skinner try some homemade fudge bought at a roadside stand also specializing in chokecherry jelly, fresh honey and pickled eggs, and Skinner bought Mulder an iced moccachino from a Starbucks that was unique by virtue of it's very existence in this quiet rural community.

At a toy store, Skinner found a stuffed dog which made Mulder frown nervously until he told him it was for William, and Mulder insisted on searching a second hand music store for Ramones bootlegs for Langly. Neither one noticed the surreptitious glances each gave to the rings displayed in a jewelry store window, but it didn't matter much, since neither man was ready to enter that store just yet.

A late lunch that was very nearly supper was take-out from Mickey D's, despite Skinner's protests. When he saw the longing in Mulder's eyes as he gazed up at the menu, however, he acquiesced and grudgingly ordered a salad and coffee, then watched with amazement and a little envy as the lean young man worked his way steadily through two burgers, super-size fries and a large coke. And then went back for an apple pie, eating it in three quick bites, complaining about burning his tongue on the filling, then giving Skinner's almost chuckle a dark glare and warning him of the dire consequences of any apple pie filling jokes. He'd already heard 'puppy' once or twice since they'd set out, and he still wasn't sure if he was happy about it, although he had to admit, Skinner never embarrassed him with the name, always keeping his voice low when he said it. And he generally followed it with a light touch, or a sudden warmth in his dark eyes that let Mulder know just how much he meant to him. So maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Just as long as Scully never found out.

After eating, Skinner suggested a nap, Mulder suggested a run. They compromised by getting directions to a large park in the center of town. A quick stop at the hotel so that Mulder could change and Skinner could pick up his almost finished paperback, and they were gone again.

They had to drive to the park, and left the truck in a lot near a man made lake. They found a bike path around the lake, and Mulder jogged off following it, while Skinner made himself comfortable on the grass under a large elm just off the path. He could glance up from his book every once in a while and follow the progress of his lover as the man made his way easily around the path.

Less than an hour later, Skinner was finished his book and Mulder was stretched out next to him, flexing his thighs and calves, then massaging same, and Skinner watched appreciatively, then helped a little, after a quick glance around that spoke more of caution than fear. Discovering that they were for all intensive purposes, alone, gave them freedom to relax into one another for a time, and Mulder found himself lying with his head in Skinner's lap, nearly falling asleep as the other man played with his hair.

"I feel like Ferris Bueller," Mulder murmured.

The reference was lost on Skinner, but he assumed it was a good thing, and he found himself feeling content as well, simply pleased to be here, in a place where no one knew them, no one had a secret agenda that involved him or his lover, and no one was pointing guns at them.

Not that he could have done anything if they were. Oh, sure, he'd brought his gun along-it was almost ingrained in him to do so-but it had spent the trip in the glovebox, and he had no desire to pull it out. It was clean, and loaded, but he hadn't touched it since then, and hadn't fired it since-

He cut that thought off abruptly, and Mulder jerked under him as his hand tightened reflexively in the other man's hair.

"What?" he demanded.

Skinner frowned down at him and didn't know how to answer. He pulled him up into his arms instead, gave him a strong, almost painful hug, and said, "Wanna get a drink?"

"Are you buying?"

"You bet."

And so, more directions from the hotel staff, another shower for Mulder and a change of clothes for them both, and they were soon ordering scotch and beer from a barely dressed, barely legal bartender in a tragically stereotypical country bar. Nasty songs about the man who got away, the woman who stole him and a little lady's right to choose blared out of a jukebox in the corner, a dance floor filled the center of the room and was occupied by a tiny old couple in matching red gingham who would apparently two-step to anything, and the entire bar smelled of stale beer, cigarettes and farm machinery.

Not the usual haunt for either man, urban dwellers and office workers both of them, but there was something so indescribably sad and cheesy about the whole place that Mulder instantly fell in love with it, and Skinner fell in love with his reaction.

Mulder borrowed quarters like a kid to play more bad music, and Skinner frowned when he got caught tapping his foot to some twangy ode to Cleopatra. Skinner in turn challenged Mulder to arm wrestle after watching two good ol' boys in a corner booth who both obviously had more biceps than brains do the same. Mulder had had a couple of beers by then, and actually came close to winning.once. Skinner thought briefly about giving in to Mulder's pride, but a snide remark about brawn vs. brains from the man, and Skinner was more than happy to painfully pin the man's arm three times in a row and demand that he buy the next round.

They got into a heated debate about their favorite football teams, which apparently was loud enough to put them in good stead with the other patrons, then had a far softer argument about the merits of Wet over Astroglide, which was quiet enough that the waitress kept flirting with Mulder, and the female half of the senior dance couple actually grabbed Skinner's ass with a blush and a giggle as she left the dance floor and made her way past his bar stool to the ladies room. Mulder almost fell off his barstool at that, and Skinner knew he'd be hearing about it for days to come. He decided to let that thought drown in more scotch, and called for another round.

The weekday crowd came and went, the drinks came, and went, and they didn't seem to be running out of things to say. It was an odd sensation for both men, but they opted to simply enjoy one another in this new surprising way, and even when he started to feel a little dizzy, Skinner didn't want the evening to end.

Mulder decided they should call it a night when it took him nearly ten minutes to maneuver his way to the bathroom, and another ten minutes to remember what he was doing there.

And now here they were. Drunk and necking in the parking lot like a couple of teenagers. And it felt good. It felt right. It felt.nice.

A truck barreled down the road next to the parking lot, but they didn't notice it until they heard the screeching of the brakes, and voices yelling. Both men looked over, startled, to see more farm-tanned, cap-wearing, barely evolved fellows much like the ones inside the bar.

"C'mon, let's go," Skinner said, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Faggots!" yelled a voice from the truck.

"Oh, shit," Mulder whispered. They backed away from the truck full of hooligans, and towards their Blazer.

Skinner didn't see who threw the thing, but he assumed from the force of the throw and the arc needed to carry a slurpee cup that distance, that it must have been the guy in the bed of the truck. All he knew was that one moment he was starting to turn away, relieved that they were apparently going to get out of this situation unscathed, and the next moment his face and chest were wet and sticky, and coke slurpee was dripping from his glasses.

Guffaws of a Cro-Magnon quality greeted this pitching display, and then the truck was gone in a spray of gravel and more name-calling.

Skinner pulled off his glasses, and Mulder was there beside him.

"Oh, hell, Walter, are you all right?"

Skinner gave him a level look, nonchalantly tried to clean his glasses with his shirt, and they both tried to ignore the coke dripping from the end of his nose.

"Homophobia in the sticks really sucks," he said.

And suddenly, despite all that they had done, or not done, the day wasn't half so nice as it had been just a moment ago.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 10: I'm Still Standing  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: July 12, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: oh, look, a nightmare.how original. First person this time-what can I say, the A.D. wanted to talk, and when A.D. Skinner, talks, you better listen!  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

".I'm still standing better than I ever did. Lookin' like a true survivor and feelin' like a little kid."

I woke up startled and almost tumbled out of the bed as Mulder shoved me hard, some incoherent moaning noise coming out of him. I hauled myself up to a half sitting position, coming more awake as he flailed wildly beside me, all arms and legs and mindless thrashings. Nothing new, but it caught me off guard nevertheless. It had been a while since it had happened, but I knew what to do.

I scooped him into my arms and held him tightly. It was a definite struggle to contain my sleeping lunatic as I wrapped my arms around him. I ignored the occasional slap and kick as a limb broke free from my embrace, and spoke quietly, but in a clear firm voice that he usually responded to.

"Mulder! Mulder, can you hear me? Wake up! Fox, it's me. It's Walter."

"No-o-o-o!" he wailed, still struggling, still sleeping. That sound made my heart ache in a way that a million nanobots could never do, and I know that pain was reflected in my voice, which took on a more desperate note.

"Come on, Mulder; come on, Fox. Come back to me. It's okay, Mulder, come on." My words trailed off as I felt him stiffen in my arms, then droop, lax and suddenly heavier as the tension began bleeding off his body. With relief I loosened my grip a little and dropped a kiss on his sweat-dampened hair. He was still muttering, I thought I caught the word "clown", and then he sighed and I heard him quite clearly say, "Okay, okay, I'm with you." His hands, which had been clenching and unclenching reflexively now clutched at my arms, and I gave him a squeeze in return, then reached one hand over to the nightstand, to turn on the small lamp there.

He chose that moment to open his eyes, and the sudden brightness made him squint. His upper lip curled in a curious, dog-like manner that I don't think he was even aware of, and he brought one hand up to shield his eyes. His features relaxed, and he gusted another huge sigh. I held him tightly, but didn't speak, soothing him in the only way I knew he'd allow right now.

His night terrors are extreme to say the least. I suspect they would drive lesser men mad, as threatening and sleep depriving as they seem to be. He doesn't often talk about content, but I've heard him call out during them, made out occasional words, and guessed a lot during the course of our relationship, and some of the things that appear to be going on during his nightmares even give me chills. It scares me to have to witness him enmeshed in his dreams; I can't imagine what it must be like to be an active participant.

Mulder loathes his nightmares. They don't scare him; he hates them. He feels like their continued existence is a personal attack on his character, a reflection of weakness in him, some defect or flaw that makes him feel unworthy of compassion, incapable of love. And if I baby him at all when he wakes from one, if I even hint that I might be concerned about his reaction, it only seems to anger him, or make him feel worse.

It's a touchy situation at best. I ache to tell him all those crappy cliches that mothers have been telling children since time out of mind, that it's okay, that he's safe, that I'm here, that I love him. But I know he won't hear me. Or if he does, he'll only be embarrassed, and think less of himself as a result. The first few times around this particular night-terror block, I tried to be the uber-protector, crooning affirmations like an idiot, only to have him turn away, rejecting me so thoroughly and completely you would have thought there was a steel wall between the two of us. Of course, in the rational light of day, he then felt just about as shitty as I did, and spent more time than is decent asking for forgiveness, blaming himself. But after a time, I thought back to my own past sleep-disorders, and life with Sharon, and I knew that Mulder and I weren't so different, after all.

I found the answer in brute force, in a sense. Oh, not pain, never that. And never anything against his will. I would never do that. No, I just provide a strong physical presence that Mulder can draw strength from, if he thinks he needs to, without asking, without fear of reprisal, or accusations. Rough affection can make him feel strong without feeling weak for needing it in the first place. Not the easiest task, and certainly not one I figured out overnight, but if Mulder was so easy to read, so easy to be with, I doubt the attraction would be the same. My mother always said I liked a challenge.

So, as usual, I just smiled as I held him close to my chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat slowing to something approaching normalcy as he came more fully awake.

"I feel-"

"Like hell," I finished for him, and got a sigh and a half-grin in response.

"Water? Aspirin?" I kept my voice purposely gruff, not thinking about his nightmare now, but about the amount of alcohol he'd consumed earlier.

"Mmm.in a minute." His voice was soft, but his grip was hard, as if he expected me to jump out of bed immediately, and he couldn't bear to let me go.

"One too many," I suggested, and got a curt nod and a murmured affirmative. I noticed that he wasn't shaking off whatever it was that had haunted his sleep this night with his usual speed, and I surmised that it must have been a bad one, indeed. Either that, or maybe the addition of the drinking we'd done earlier. Whatever it was, it wasn't going away as fast as either one of us would have liked, so I opted, just this once, to press just a little more than usual, hoping I wouldn't hit one of those conversational landmines he has strewn so carefully across his psyche.

I touched the side of his face, lightly, stroking his scruffy cheek, then running my thumb briefly over his lower lip, making him look up at me. I gave him what I thought was a meaningful glance, and said, "Well, beer will do that to you." Even as I said it, I knew damned well that he wasn't lying here trembling in my arms because of a stupid Bud Light. But I couldn't ask outright. I could only hope he would understand the meaning beneath my words.

"Wasn't the beer."

I admit, I was surprised. Sure, I'd been thinking about more than his potential hangover when I mentioned it, but I didn't really think he'd pick up on it. Or if he did, that he'd acknowledge it. A bad one, I thought again. And then I didn't know what to say next, how to keep this wholly unexpected dialogue going, so, feeling like actions would speak louder than words, and probably be more appreciated, I carefully disengaged myself from his embrace, which got me a sigh but no comment, and got up to search out some form of hangover cure.

Mulder made a face as he swallowed the aspirins I handed him, then made another at the taste of the bathroom tap water, which was the only thing I had to offer him to wash down the pills. He handed the glass back with a groan and put his hand back over his eyes, not moving until I was back in bed with him. I held an arm out and he cuddled in close.

After a few minutes time during which neither of us spoke, I gave him a searching look, which he mentally skittered away from, dropping his gaze and absently running his hand over my chest. I think he was trying to distract me, and for a moment I almost considered letting him. But something dark and uncertain that I saw in his eyes before he looked away convinced me otherwise.

"Better?" I asked, touching his forehead lightly.

"Some," he said, pushing my hand away.

Another silence, this one bordering on awkward. He petted my chest again, and just as it suddenly occurred to me what he was doing, he spoke.

"Those guys were jerks." The words were soft, like he was having a hard time pushing them out of his mouth. I placed my hand over his to show him that I was not only in total agreement with this assessment, but that I knew how hard it was for him to talk at all right now.

"It happens, Mulder. You know that."

"I know, I know, but." I got another troubled look and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. "But, dammit, I'm forty. I'm too old for this!"

That didn't make sense at all, but I hoped if I just kept holding him, he'd enlighten me. And he did.

"I mean I just never thought about it, y'know? I thought fag bashing was for high school. That all that crap was done once I turned twenty-one. I know what you're thinking. That we live with it everyday that we're together-with our co-workers-your co-workers," he amended hastily. "But somehow that's different. Not right, but, I don't know, understandable, somehow. No, not understandable. Subtle, maybe. Not so dangerous. It just never occurred to me that men-not boys-men-would want to-to-" He stuttered to a halt, gulped air for a moment or two, then resumed, still in a strident tone of voice that worried me.

"Men don't do this! Men don't throw things. Men don't beat the crap out of other men just because they're queer. It's a teenager thing-a college thing-a backassward redneck thing! I can't understand it, and it scares me, Walter."

I hastened to allay his fears. "It was just coke, Mulder. I can get a new shirt."

"No! That's not it at all. Don't you see what this really is, Walter? For the first time, I think, since we started seeing each other, I really feel like it's a dangerous thing. I have to face the fact that-that you could die."

"Fox-" I didn't want to hear the end of the sentence.

He was determined to get the words out. "Walter, you could die because I love you."

I think both of us were a little shaky after that. I know I had his hand in a death grip just above my heart, and he buried his face in my shoulder, breathing in short panting gasps, as though he'd just run a marathon.

But after the horrible implications of what he had said had time to run through my mind, I let go of his hand and tipped his face up to mine, gave him a rough kiss on the mouth, and asked,

"Is that what you dreamed tonight?"

He nodded.

"Mulder, listen to me." I found one of my old surly A.D. voices and put it on, making sure he was paying attention. "I am not going to die because of you."

He didn't look convinced.

"Either one of us, Mulder, could be in danger, anytime. I've told you that before. It's just life, and nobody gets anywhere giving in. Do you understand me?"

A tiny nod, this time.

"Besides," I adopted a lighter tone, "You're watching my back, right?"

A more positive nod, and a ghost of a smile flitting across his dark eyes, lightening them briefly.

"What's say we get in a bit more down time before the morning?" I pushed just one more time: "I'll stay up 'til you fall asleep."

"Promise?"

'Oh, Mulder,' I thought, 'what must have gone on inside that brilliant mind of yours, to make you sound so unsure, so needy?' I could only guess, but I didn't want to.

"Of course." I replied easily, and kissed him again to seal the bargain. His mouth grew mobile under mine and I deepened the kiss. He tasted a little like aspirin and a little like fear, and I tried to swallow both, to assuage his doubts, to let him rest.

He pulled his mouth off of mine with a gentle tug and closed his eyes, whispered, "Thanks, Walter," and squirmed in closer. I could feel his breath warm on my chest, and one hand stroked lazily up and down my flank, then settled with familiarity on my hip. He sighed once, and just before I felt the heaviness in his limbs and the slow settled breathing patterns that would signal to me his return to sleep, I swear I heard him whisper, "I trust you."

I wish I could say the same. Oh, not about Mulder. I trust the man with my life. I just don't know if he can trust me with his.

Then he was fast asleep, and I was the one with all sorts of monsters capering and gibbering just beyond reach, keeping me from sleep.

The sun was just coming up when I finally nodded off. Mulder had rolled away from me in his sleep, but as I drifted away into a swirling dream state populated with slurpees and rednecks, trucks and guns, aliens and rats, I thought I felt his hand brush mine.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 11: Long Tall Glasses  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: this whole series is AU of course, in a way, but this is probably the most unrealistic chapter, although it was one of the first images I had when I sat down to write this puppy, so it has a warm place in my heart.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

"I was travelling down the road feeling hungry and cold I saw a sign saying food and drinks for everyone so naturally I thought I'd take me a look inside."

                 

"I am so sick of small towns," Mulder grumped as Skinner steered the truck into yet another slant parking space on another non-descript street in another nameless burg.

The main street of this particular town at least had the benefit of streetlamps, and Mulder watched them come to life in no particular order and without much strength, like geriatric sentinels against the encroaching darkness.

Skinner shut off the engine and looked up and down the darkening street, feeling his mood shifting as it became apparent that nothing was open.

"It won't be much longer," he replied, surprised to find himself tamping down the urge to snap at his lover.

It had been a long, strange day. Neither man seemed able to shake off the events of the previous night. Both were suffering from the after-effects not only of drinking to excess, but of the hostile display they'd encountered outside the bar, and the resulting nightmares and insomnia.

There'd been no intimacy between them beyond a careful good morning kiss, and they'd kept their thoughts to themselves as they packed up and headed back out onto the highway.

Mulder had been pale, shaky and withdrawn, and after a few bungled attempts at conversation which he answered in monosyllables, Walter gave it up and concentrated on the road, while Fox slipped into an uneasy doze, which he kept waking from in fits and starts, and which gave him no rest at all.

Of course, Walter worried about this, but his gentle queries were rebuffed with a snarling "I'm fine," that was so vehement that he knew it was a lie. And this worried him more. Which only added tension to his already tight shoulders and neck, making them ache, making him more tense, and making him angry at nothing. He knew he should be trying to coax his recalcitrant lover into discussing the issues from the night before, as he had learned from painful experience exactly what lack of communication did to their relationship, but somehow, he couldn't find his way in. And after some time had passed, he found he didn't want to. Not because his concern for Mulder had lessened, but because, if he got the truth from Mulder, the other man might ask the same of him. And that just wasn't a place he was ready to go. He knew this trip was a pilgrimage of sorts for him, to find the truth within himself, but they weren't at their destination yet, and Walter's thoughts and feelings reflected this. He was in transit, and not prepared to work everything out yet. He supposed just thinking about it was a step in the direction he wanted to take, but that was as far as he was willing to go.

In fact, Mulder didn't press him at all, although he caught him once or twice scrutinizing him carefully, looking almost afraid, not of him, but for him, somehow. But it wasn't often, and when he scowled back, Mulder would turn away, feigning sleep, or just staring out at the passing scenery, which wasn't scenic at all, and refuse to comment.

And so the day had passed. The rain they had experienced two nights previous returned with less force, and for most of the afternoon, grey drizzle outside matched the mood in the truck perfectly. The weather had cleared just in time for dusk, so that they had basically missed the sun all day. Which seemed about par for the course.

"Do you see a hotel?" Mulder asked, and Walter wished he could have said yes. He saw a co-op store, closed, and a beauty salon, also locked up for the day, and a drug store, with a sale on hair colour, or so the sign next to the closed sign proclaimed. He also noticed a closed bar, a closed restaurant (The Do-Drop-Inn cafe, and wasn't that fucking clever?), and a closed bank.

"I guess we'll have to keep going," he sighed.

Mulder immediately opened his door.

"Where are you going?" Walter demanded, growling without meaning to.

Mulder gave him a startled look, then a hurt one, and then a mask of impassivity slipped over his features. All this happened in less time than it takes to tell, but Walter noticed nevertheless, and again wished for whatever was needed to make things right between them.

"Just going to stretch my legs, Walter. I'll be right back." He didn't wait for a reply, just closed the door softly behind him and walked off into the darkness.

Skinner watched him walk away, then pause in a dim pool of yellow streetlight. As Mulder flexed his arms back behind him, then twisted his torso, Skinner felt the familiar pangs of desire, and he knew he should get out of the truck and go to the man, make some attempt at fixing whatever it was that was making them both feel like shit.

As he continued observing his lover, he saw Mulder pause and turn his head towards the end of the street. Walter was struck for a moment at the bestial nature of the pose. Mulder was frozen in place, arms at his side, weight resting lightly on the balls of his feet. His face was turned up and away from Walter, and it looked for all the world like he was testing the air around him.

Walter got out of the truck.

He locked the doors behind him, pocketed the keys, and was at his lover's side in a moment. He didn't say anything at first, and in the quiet between them, he could hear the distant murmur of music and people. He looked over in the same direction as his lover, and saw a lone lighted building at the far end of the block.

Mulder finally acknowledged his presence, relaxing slightly and fixing his gaze on the older man.

"Do you hear that?" he asked in a quiet voice. Walter nodded.

"Do you think we should check it out?" his tone was deferential, and he touched Walter's hand briefly, got another nod.

"Do we need to do this?" This third question threw Skinner; he didn't understand what Mulder meant. He felt the touch of the other man's hand on his own again, this time pressing a little harder, lingering a little longer, and it made some sort of sense to him. Something had to be done to overthrow the doubts and fears that they were both feeling, and that they were currently misdirecting at one another. A mystery for Mulder, an investigation for Skinner, and just enough of a distraction to begin healing the wound that lay between them.

"Let's go." Skinner held Mulder's hand deliberately as they headed off down the street.

***

The signs of life they'd noticed at the end of the block turned out to be, of all things, a wedding reception, being held in the town hall. It appeared as if the entire town had turned out for the event, as people spilled out of the large building onto the lawn, talking, laughing, drinking and smoking.

Mulder and Skinner walked up the street, paused just before the lawn in front of the long wooden facility, and turned to smile at one another, amused at what they had found.

"Hey, look, free food," said Mulder, grinning devilishly and taking a step forward.

"Oh, no, Fox, we can't-" Walter stopped in mid-protest as a man in a tuxedo approached them, gave them a curious, but not unfriendly look, and asked politely, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Uh, yeah, we're from the bride's side from the family," Mulder replied earnestly, and Walter was hard-pressed not to laugh aloud as he noticed a mischievous light making his lover's eyes dance. At the same time, though, he knew they shouldn't be doing this. This wasn't their place. They weren't supposed to be here. It was wrong. But then why, oh why did it suddenly feel so right?

"Oh?" the man looked skeptical, but not overly so.

"Yes," Skinner stepped forward and took the man 's hand in a hale and hearty tough guy handshake, grinned at his wide-eyed lover, then scanned the cars in front of the hall, hoping the one he wanted was there, hoping the one he wanted was under a streetlamp.

"I'm Walter, and this is Fox," he continued, and his eyes settled on their goal. "We haven't seen cousin,"-he squinted at the bridal car-"Muriel for years. Isn't that right, Fox?"

"Uh-" Mulder gaped at him, mouth hanging open. When he had looked up at the stars mere moments ago and wished that he could get Walter to relax, this wasn't quite what he had expected. This went way beyond any Skinnerdefinition of 'relax' that he'd ever come across.

It didn't take long to convince the man, who just wanted to get back to enjoying himself. When Walter added a friendly slap on the back that nearly knocked him over, the man grinned and said, "Come on in."

They followed the man into the hall, still grinning disbelievingly at one another, then laughing out loud at their own audacity.

And now, here they were, an hour and several toasts to the bride later, and Mulder was dancing with the five year old flower girl while Skinner was attempting to extricate himself from the clutches of the divorced mother of the groom.

The divorcee in question had all the charm and subtlety of a rhino in a pantygirdle, and when she smiled coyly and told Walter how sexy she thought bald men were, he found himself almost overwhelmed by an insane urge to wipe the lipstick off her teeth.with his foot.

"I think I need another drink," he muttered and turned to the bar, marching double time across the room and ignoring the plaintive bleating of the dowager: "Walleeee-"

He thought up several dark and cryptic tortures for the man who had brought him into this mess while he waited in the line-up for the bar. These thoughts ran the gamut from a week on the couch to a night on the cross, with all manner of spankings and stern talking tos in-between. He conveniently chose to ignore his own complacency in their deception,

Finally the young bartender was handing him another cold glass of cheap champagne, and he downed it with a grimace, feeling his tastebuds cramp in that "this ain't Glenfiddich, Mac!" way. He shook it off, and took a second glass right out of the bartender's hand, giving the resulting sound of protest such a cold look that it turned into something peeping and unsure before it ever left the young man's mouth. Skinner, who agreed that the better part of valor was indeed knowing when to keep one's mouth shut, tipped him heavily, then walked away, determined to find Mulder, give the bride one last kiss goodnight, and get the hell out of here before he had to deal with one more minute of wedding crap.

He stopped on the far side of the dance floor, as far away from the divorcesaurus as he could get and still see his lover.

Mulder was still on the floor, and Skinner marveled at how he somehow fit into the sea of suits on the dance floor, even wearing just faded jeans and a casual v-neck sweater. Hell, he didn't just fit in; he looked better than most of the suits in question, even the tuxed and tailed best man. Of course, Skinner thought he might be a little biased, but not that much, if the smoldering looks his puppy was getting from the bridesmaids (all four of them) was any indication.

Mulder didn't seem to notice all the noticing. He was completely enthralled with his dance partner, smiling warmly at the little girl in white lace, holding her tiny hands in his large ones, and matching his steps to hers. When he let go of one hand and twirled her around, she giggled, and when Mulder laughed along with her, Walter did too.

The song ended, Mulder bowed to his partner, who offered him a clumsy and charming curtsey in return, and out of the corner of his eye, Walter saw his 'date' lumbering towards him like a wildebeest crossing the African plains. Walter momentarily wished that he was a lion, then decided he made a better gazelle, and fled across the dance floor.

He caught up with Mulder as he was escorting the flower girl off the floor. Walter's hand on his arm pulled him up short, and the little girl found her way back to her mommy unescorted.

Mulder turned to his lover with a smile, saw the glass in his hand, and took it without a word, sipped demurely for a moment, then downed the whole thing.

"Thanks, Walter. I needed that." He grinned, Walter couldn't help but smile back, and they walked off the floor. They found two chairs that were set slightly apart from most of the revelers, and sat down together. Mulder caught the eye of his new favorite five-year-old and gave her a little wave. She waved back, and her mother fairly beamed at the man who had so pleased her daughter, wondering again just which part of the family he was from, and why she didn't remember him.

"Well, Mulder, I think our work here is done," said Walter, touching him briefly on the leg. "I think it's about time we get out of here before our cover is blown."

Mulder kept on smiling, looking around the room. "Look at these people," he said, his voice quiet, maybe even a little wistful. "They're amazing."

"What do you mean?" Walter was glancing at the African matriarch, who, having lost site of her tall, bald quarry, was now grazing her way through the buffet on the other side of the room. Amazing might have been an apt adjective for her, he thought, but not in that good way.

"I mean, Walter, that we're sitting here in a room full of people who don't know anything about aliens, government conspiracies, duplicity, lies, cover-ups-" he paused, thoughtful. "Or maybe they know, but it doesn't matter. They're happy. Content. And accepting." The smile disappeared, then returned with less force. "They trust us without question, and we've done nothing to abuse that trust."

"Other than lying about who we are and why we're here," Skinner mentioned helpfully. Mulder laughed quietly.

"Well, yes, other than that. I think you know what I mean, Walter."

"I know, puppy." Walter had to agree. He felt good, quite despite himself, and he thought maybe this had been an important step towards the half-formed goal he had in mind for himself, as unplanned as it had been. "They are amazing." He patted the younger man's leg again, then gave it a little squeeze and left his hand there, surprising both of them. "But I really think it's time to go."

Mulder appeared not to have heard him at first. He was gazing down at Walter's large hand like he'd never seen it before. Then he scanned the room quickly, his attention flitting from person to person in what Skinner thought of as his 'scan mode'. He'd seen Mulder use the same technique on crime scenes, and it never failed to turn up just the right piece of evidence that seemed to elude everyone else. He wondered what Mulder was looking for, what he was seeing.

"One more dance?" Mulder asked quietly.

Skinner looked over at the little girl, who was still grinning at Mulder like he was Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and all four Teletubbies rolled into one.

"All right." Skinner expected Mulder to walk away, and was completely taken aback when his lover stood and held out his hand.

"C'mon, boss, let's dance."

"Fox, no, we are not doing this," Walter hissed through gritted teeth. Mulder took his hand and tugged gently on it, pulling him to his feet, pulling him close.

"I'll let you lead," he whispered.

Walter looked wildly around the room, wondering if anyone was seeing what he thought was obvious. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a blonde or so girl of about thirteen blushing furiously as she watched them, and giggling madly into her cupped hands. The divorcee from hell was staring wide-eyed at them, bits of cake falling from her open mouth. But the flowergirl was still smiling, and so was her mother.

"Walter," Fox's voice was low and urgent, "We are in the middle of nowhere, drinking cheap champagne in a room full of wonderful strangers who think we are nothing more than distant cousins of the bride. They don't know us, they've never heard of the X-Files, hell I bet half of them have never even heard of the FBI. They don't give a crap about our agenda, and, frankly, right now, neither do I." He pulled back, but kept his grip on the other man's hand. "They're happy, Walter. They feel something that's not angst, or anger, or fear. And I want to feel that, too." He leaned back in and pressed his lips to Walter's cheek, then ducked his head, and offered a smile-one that Walter recognized from far too many absurd travel requests.

"Dance with me, Walter," he said in a normal tone of voice.

The band, who was apparently part of some international inappropriate behaviour conspiracy, segued out of the hatchet job they'd been doing on Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll" and into a passable cover of the Rovers "Black Velvet Band." Walter recognized the tune immediately, and a stray thought of Sharon crossed his mind. He remembered an instant of time when the two of them had danced to the song at some cousin's wedding, and he remembered her telling him that she never felt more loved by him than when he danced with her. He also remembered thinking at the time that it was typical Sharon foolishness, and that he didn't have time for such sentimental crap.

He gave Mulder a piercing look and the younger man dropped his eyes, but held onto his hand.

Walter decided he could make time for some sentimental crap.

Mulder couldn't mask the huge delighted smile on his face as Walter pulled him out onto the floor.

There were no gasps of astonishment. No circle of on-lookers formed around them. No one tried to pull them apart, or conversely applauded their unabashed declaration of devotion to each other. This wasn't a movie, or an HBO series. This was life. Good, bad or indifferent, and while they struggled with the latter two on what felt like a daily basis, this was one of the good moments.

They held each other close, matched each other's rhythm perfectly, and shared a smile with their eyes that spoke louder than any words could. Then Mulder rested his head on his partner's shoulder, and they finished the song barely moving.

The band informed the crowd that they were taking a much-needed break, but would be back soon, and Fox and Walter left the room. In the quiet left behind, the mother of the groom belched loudly, and the bride asked, "Who were those guys?"

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 12: Fruit At The Bottom  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: R  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: the boys get down and dirty before the border crossing. This one's for my favorite old man, and you know who you are.  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

"Fruit at the bottom, my lover's got 'em."

I couldn't help it; I laughed out loud at the combination of banality and frank sexuality in the lyrics of the dumb eighties song playing on the radio. Walter just threw me one of his patented confused frowns, followed by the even more familiar indulgent smile. It's a paternal look, one that really pisses me off some days.

Today was not one of those days.

Of course, I was probably still cruising on some sort of endorphin high from the evening's events.

Dancing with my lover, in public, has been a long time fantasy for me, although one so cheesily romantic and foolish that wild horses could never have pulled that truth from me. Or Scully, even. I know she thinks I haven't got a shred of romance in my soul, and for the longest time, she might have been right. Too many years spent floundering in the dark, wallowing in all the misery that the human animal is capable of, and torturing my own soul over delusions of guilt and self-pity; not exactly the most fertile ground for nurturing the seeds of romance to fruition. Add to that a nice big closet that made me overcompensate for every perceived lack of machismo by turning myself into a sexist-jock-porno monster, and no one was going to mistake me for Danielle Steele.

And then I fell in love with my boss.

Walter Skinner's the man; there's no doubt about it. He doesn't need to be bald to prove he's got an over-abundance of testosterone. Everything he does, every movement, gesture, act-all about as macho as you can get without actually joining the Village People. I mean, he was a marine, for Christ's sake. Some days I half-expect him to club me over the head and drag me away by my hair. With a grunt. I can picture him in pirate drag challenging Ol' Smokey to a duel to defend my honour. Or cutting a swath through thick jungle with a machete to save me from cannibals.

My grade school teachers always said I had a vivid imagination.

The point is, until we finally found that place where we could be honest with each other, I never saw Walter as romantic. I firmly believed that the concept was emasculating at best, and that you couldn't be a real man if you were too busy crying at chick flicks and worrying about dry skin while you picked out flowers for your 'significant other'.

I've never been so happy to be proven wrong.

Walter cries. Walter likes patchouli scented massage oil. Walter makes a killer stir fry, with fresh cut oregano. Walter likes roses.

And he's still the man.

Tonight, when he accepted my invitation to dance, he led. There was no question about it, and I didn't take offense from it. He can do that, somehow, in a way that other men, other women, hell even my own self-analysis has been unable to do. To take control of any situation, any experience that we might have together, and not make me feel like less of a man when I give it to him. It's a remarkable gift that I am almost in awe of sometimes. Even before we became a couple, when he was just the big bad boss, and I was his eternal thorn in the side, he could do that. Tear apart my budget requests, roll his eyes at some of my more 'out there' conclusions, or even just flat out deny a travel request on the grounds that I was out of my mind, and somehow still convey a respect for me that pulled me in, little by little, until now. Until I'm here with him, unable to imagine life without him.

And he makes *me* feel like the man.

With these wonderful thoughts racing through my mind, I laughed again, and Walter took me in his arms, still smiling, though there was more intent to it than just paternal indulgence for my silliness. It's that look that I know is just for me. A slow, sexy grin that always makes me shiver. And I did.

I gave him a level look right back, doing my manly best to convey my feelings through my eyes, (my best feature, Walter claims, when he's not taking cheap shots at my nose), having one of those no-need-for-words moments and hoping he was too.

He was.

It had taken another four hours drive to find a motel, but at least this one had king-size beds, and didn't smell like bean soup cooked on a hotplate. So when Walter and I tumbled onto the bed, nobody's legs were hanging over the edge. A minor point, but one that we both appreciated briefly, before his mouth found mine.

He started with light kisses, peppering my face with them, my cheeks, my nose, which made me squirm and made him laugh, my eyelids, my lips. Walter is nothing if not thorough. When he caught my mouth with his a second time, I latched on, slipping my tongue between his lips. I'd had enough teasing on the ride here, and was ready to move on.

Apparently, so was he.

I could feel his hands roughly dragging through my hair, pulling a little but not hurting, as he stole my breath with a kiss that I initiated. For a moment I thought I could taste champagne, and then I had to turn my head away to catch my breath.

I should have known better. His wandering mouth was immediately nuzzling and nibbling at my ear lobe. He bit, licked and blew softly, and I felt his warm breath all the way down to my toes. I don't know when exactly he found out that my ears and neck were a hot spot, but since that time, he's taken every opportunity to use that bit of knowledge to his advantage. He says he likes the results. I think he just likes to hear me whimper.

Our hands got busy with pulling shirts out of pants, and I wriggled around until our mouths were joined again. He'd worked my sweater up to my neck, and his thick fingers were tugging on my nipples, softly at first, then, when he tasted a groan, harder. We were lying side by side, but slowly he was forcing me over onto my back. Not that I was resisting all that much. It was a comfortable position for both of us.

After one more sharp pinch, he abandoned my chest for the front of my pants, and I couldn't help thrusting into his hand as he skimmed his palm over my cock. Some sound came out of my mouth that must have pleased him, since he quit trying to open my zipper and just opted to stroke me through my jeans.

I was still struggling with his shirt and trying to catch his wandering mouth when he sat up abruptly, resting on his knees, pushing my legs apart to sit between them.

He smiled at me then, and I know my sweaty, excited state amused him. He's told me on several occasions that he admires the abandon I have in bed, and I've told him that I couldn't be like this with anyone else. I trust him enough to be completely open in my desire for him.

Be that as it may, I don't trust him not to tease the hell out of me, just to watch me go out of my mind. He's done it before, and even though at the time I contemplated shooting him outright, I really have no cause for complaint; generally, he doesn't leave me hanging for long.

I wasn't in a teasing mood.

When he began unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness, I reached for him and pulled myself up to a sitting position with my arms around his thick neck. I bent my legs at the knee and tightened them around his hips, holding him firmly in place.

He glanced up from his buttons and I couldn't believe how dark his eyes were. He was breathing softly but quickly through his mouth, and I know if I hadn't been so caught up in my own wants and needs, I would have realized just how excited he really was. But even in this, the most vulnerable and open of acts, Walter plays it close to the cuff. I understand why he does it, I think, but that doesn't mean that I accept it. Or that I'll let him get away with it. Besides, this is supposed to be his vacation, or something. Doesn't that mean that he's supposed to relax and enjoy himself?

Well, relaxing could come later, I decided. For now, it was going to be all about Walter Skinner enjoying the moment.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his, and he closed his eyes, then opened them wide when I brushed my hands around his neck to his throat, paused there just long enough to feel his pulse, then tore open his shirt with a quick slashing motion that sent buttons flying.

I gripped tighter with my legs, now that my hands were no longer locked around him, and smothered his yelp of protest with my mouth, then poked said protest right back down his throat with my tongue, just to be on the safe side. Then I tugged on his torn shirt front and fell back, pulling him with me, and we wound up back on our sides again, joined at the mouth like some crazy Siamese twins.

His mouth was hot on mine, his tongue demanding entrance, which I gladly gave. He was shoving at my sweater again, which I had managed to pull off my arms, but which was now half-strangling me as he pushed it around my neck to get his hands on my nipples again. When his mouth joined his fingers, I gulped air, then pulled the restrictive garment off and tossed it over the side of the bed.

He licked his way down the center of my chest, to my stomach, across it, then back, and I shivered from the heat-he may as well have been dripping hot candle wax on me. But it was a good burn, and my back arched up to meet his mouth.

His hands were back on my pants, and there was no hesitation this time. The button and zipper presented no problem, and then my jeans and boxers were little more than another crumpled pile of cloth on the floor. His mouth was still doing it's trailblazing across my torso, and I squirmed and twisted, trying to get him to go lower. But apparently he was more interested in tasting my belly button, tickling it with his tongue, and making me giggle. Yes, giggle. He's done that before, and we've had more than one conversation about what would happen if he ever told Scully I was even capable of making such a sound.

He was still wearing too many clothes for my liking, so with a tremendous effort, I threw him off me, rolling him onto his back and draping myself over him, deciding that the motto for the moment was give a little get a little. I snaked my way down his torso, and couldn't stop a little gasp from escaping me at the friction his body created with mine.

Spreading the remains of his shirt, I took a moment to visually appreciate his wide expanse of chest, tapering neatly to his well-developed abdominal muscles and all of it covered with just the right amount of hair. Then I let my mouth do it's own appreciating.

It's a little known fact that Assistant Director Walter Skinner giggles, too.

While my tongue was dipping into his navel, then laving the skin to either side, I struggled with the double button fly on his pants, then decided that if the shirt was a write off, then the matching pants would be too, and gave a tremendous yank. So much for the double button problem.

He raised his hips obligingly, and his already hard cock sprang to full attention as I whisked his pants away. Slipping off to one side of him, I laughed breathlessly as his body twisted in an attempt to stay in contact with me. I laid one hand on a hip, and he stilled. I took a moment to relish the warm skin under my hand, and then I reached gingerly for his cock, touching it lightly.

"Hey," I murmured, "is that for me?"

His reply was to reach down and put a hand on my hair.

Still keeping my grip soft, I stroked his swollen shaft, marveling at the combination of velvet and steel that slipped through my fingers, a contradiction that never failed to delight me. Another stroke, this one with more purpose, and I suddenly became aware of his shallow panting breaths as his hand tightened in my hair. I varied my technique on the third trip up and paused to rub my thumb over the head, which earned me a catch in his breathing and more pressure on the back of my head. This impressed me, so I did it again.

Walter is not a screamer. He's not a talker, a whiner or a moaner. Generally speaking, I'm the one who's usually invoking the names of various saints, cursing same or just crying out his name by this stage of the game. More of that abandon he loves so much, I suppose, although I think the sounds, or lack thereof, that we make speak volumes about the men we are outside of the bedroom, too. I've been accused of verbal diarrhea in the office on more than one occasion, so it makes sense that I'd be pretty verbal in the throes of passion too.

What doesn't make sense is why I get tagged with the name puppy when he's the one who growls.

It was a low, throaty sound that vibrated through his whole body, and if I hadn't already been sporting a regular rail spike, that sound would have been guaranteed to make me rock hard in an instant. It's a sound of barely restrained passion, a vaguely threatening wild animal noise that I think would have been heard in The Lion King, if that movie had had an R rating.

I needed no more coaxing than that, and I shifted my body around to make myself more comfortable, and, I admit, to get closer to his hands, then, cradling his balls gently in one hand and holding him at the base of his cock with the other, I slipped my mouth over him. I started with the crown, licking over the tip while I held him trapped in my mouth, and I could taste the sweet and bitter combination that signaled his rising excitement. Still swirling my tongue around to lap at every bit of smooth hot skin, I took a little more into my mouth, creating gentle suction, and combining it with the short hard strokes of my hand.

His thick fist was still in my hair, but he wasn't forcing me, just gently guiding me a little. A tug, a sigh and another growl, and I twisted around even more, to take more of him in a more comfortable position. The hand left my head and then I felt it grip my cock, which my maneuverings had brought nearer to him. Without preamble, he took up a short jerking motion that had my hips bucking involuntarily within moments. Not to be outdone, I sucked harder, and didn't bother to smother the moans of pleasure he was giving me, which, if his own thrusting was any indication, put us back on an even level.

His hand on my ass upped the ante, and I remember thinking that wasn't fair, that he knew what he was doing to me, and how was I supposed to concentrate on the task at hand, or mouth as the case may be, when his big rough hands were stroking front and back, combining to turn my center into something molten and volcanic. I redoubled my efforts through a pre-orgasmic haze, using more hand movement now that his cock was slick from both my mouth and his excitement, and just letting my mouth cover the head, going back to exploring with my tongue. I felt his balls tightening in my other hand, and I released them with a gentle squeeze. That's when I felt a finger lightly circling my opening.

"Oh God!" I couldn't help it. I pulled my mouth away for just a moment when he pushed into me, one finger, then two, quickly but with care, and crooked them inside of me. I felt my orgasm boiling over and took his entire length in my mouth to mask another cry. Then I just held onto his hips and swallowed repeatedly as we came together, bucking and thrashing and writhing against one another. I thought I heard him growling again, but it might have been coming out of myself.

You know how all those porno mags have those letters columns that generally start out with "I never thought I'd be writing to you." and end with the author cumming so hard he blacks out? I always used to think that was bullshit.

Surprise.

I came back to myself with my head resting on Walter's stomach. I smiled up at him, and he grinned back, looking totally smug and self satisfied.

"You cheated," I whispered.

"I did," he agreed mildly, running a hand through my hair.

"But I think I still won." I worked my jaw and felt a little twinge.

"I think this one was a draw, puppy."

Which, I think, was his way of saying we're both the man tonight.

 

* * *

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 13: All Out of Love  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: songfic of a sort  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: Mostly season 8, mostly Existence, maybe others, nothing too earth shattering, that's for sure.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's divided into parts, so I guess that makes it a series, right?  
Beta: none, but suggestions are always welcome!  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Notes: it's ten o'clock-do you know where your agents are? (Additional note: I know the title has nothing to do with the chapter, but it was the next song on the tape, and they mention a phone a couple of times, so I went with it. This chapter has nothing to do with Mick's Air Supply series, despite the title--life just works that way, sometimes...)  
Summary: What was I thinking, trying to make another tape at work-the boys took over this one too. Not sure how to describe this story-it's told in different styles, with different POVS. I guess it's an experiment.

* * *

"And what would you say if I called on you now and said that I can't go on?"

Dana Scully turned down the music on the stereo and slipped the chunky cordless phone receiver into the nook between shoulder and neck, still holding William in her arms. An automated voice told her to press one to accept the charges, or say 'yes'.

"Yes."

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I was worried that you wouldn't accept the charges." Mulder didn't sound especially worried, though. He sounded a little happy, and a lot far away.

"You owe me," she replied.

"Sorry, my cel phone crapped out once we got over the border-must be the mountains, or something." He didn't sound all that concerned.

"Mountains, Mulder?" she sounded skeptical, and knew it was an automatic response that, after eight years, she was helpless to control. "Where are you?"

"Beats me, Scully, I just got here. Hang on a minute." There followed a smothered murmur that Scully couldn't make out, then another one, sounding gruffer, and then Mulder was back. "You still there, Scully?" When she made an affirmative noise, he continued. "We're in Jasper."

"Jasper, Alberta?"

"That's the one."

"Why?"

"I don't exactly know, Scully. I think Walter intends to feed me to the mountain goats-OW! Scully, he hit me."

She could almost see Walter Skinner smacking his lover on the ass, hard enough to startle, not hard enough to hurt, and she could definitely picture him grinning while he did it.

"And this affects me how?"

"Aw, man, where am I supposed to go for comfort and unconditional love now that you're giving all yours to Baby Bill?"

She smiled down at the bundle in her arms, and settled baby, phone and herself into the rocker by the window.

"I think you already know the answer to that one, Mulder.even if he doesn't always show it the way you need him to."

"Hey," he protested, "I am not the needy one on this vacation."

"Oh?"

"Stop arching your eyebrow at me, Scully, the operator charges extra for non-verbal sarcasm here in Canada."

She thought that she could have pursued it, but the question of who needed who in her partner's relationship with Walter Skinner was one that she didn't think either man wanted to answer too fully at this point, so she paused to re-adjust the phone, took up a smooth rocking motion that caused William's eyes to glaze over and then slip closed, and steered the conversation away from Mulder's neediness, or lack thereof.

"So, Jasper, huh? Pretty far from D.C., Mulder."

"Yeah," he agreed with something like homesickness in his tone. "But they have a Domino's here. And I think we'll go into Calgary tomorrow."

"At this rate, Mulder, you two will be in Nunavik by the end of the month." She kept her words light, but knew that she missed him-missed both of them-and that he would pick up on that without her saying so.

"He only took two weeks off, Scully. And besides, I think he's-hey! Stop that! Walter, quit it!"

She thought she could make out the word "puppy" over the scuffling noises on the other end of the phone, and then she thought she heard giggling. Neither one of these things made sense to her, nor could she attribute them to her perceived notions of either man.

"Mulder? Should I be hearing this?" A vision crept into her mind unbidden, one so obscene she blushed even alone in her apartment, and shook her head to clear it, nearly dislodging both phone and baby. One of them she soothed with a wordless murmur, the other she clamped more firmly to her ear. "Mulder? Hello?"

"Scully, it's Walter."

"Sir.Walter.How-how are you?" She was a bit startled to hear his voice.

"Well, Dana, I haven't completely snapped yet," he told her, his characteristic growl completely missing, and she wondered again about the short scuffle that had put him on the phone. Another blush, and she smiled at herself, feeling a little silly.

"Despite the company?"

He laughed, and she thought she came a little closer to understanding Mulder's attraction to him.

"Indeed." His tone turned more serious. "I just wanted to assure you that I'll be back in a week, and I'm pretty sure he'll be with me."

"Unless you feed him to the goats."

Another laugh. "Unless I feed him to the goats," he agreed. "How are you holding up, Dana? How's the baby?"

"Good and good, sir-Walter." She hadn't quite kicked the habit of making him her boss in every encounter, instead of her friend, but she was working on it.

"And Agent Doggett? He's keeping up with everything? Doing his damnedest to put that bastard Kersh in intensive care, I hope." There was the growl she'd expected, and she thought that between the three of them, Walter's resentment of the man who had ascended to the deputy directorship was the strongest. She thought maybe it was because of his treatment of her and Mulder, and then she wondered if there wasn't something else going on there. She realized he was waiting for a reply, and turned her attention back to the phone. William yawned and twisted in her arms, one chubby hand going into his mouth instinctively. Maybe the baby *was* Mulder's.

There was an unrealized laugh in her voice when she answered. "Agent Doggett is being tenacious in his investigation, sir. Must be something in the air in the basement."

They laughed together at that, and then she heard more scuffling sounds, and someone breathing close to the phone.

"Well, that's good then. I guess we'll be seeing you in about a week, Dana."

"Thanks for calling, Walter." She felt that tug again, the one that said the two people closest to her heart were also currently the one's furthest away. "I miss you two," she confessed suddenly.

"We miss you, too," his tone sounded drier, but Scully knew him well enough to understand the depth behind the words. From the background she heard Mulder yell, "I love you, Scully!"

She and Walter shared another laugh, this one full of love for Mulder, and he said goodbye.

Scully lifted one hand from the baby to disconnect the phone. She thought she should put William to bed, since he was now sound asleep, but for the moment it just felt good to sit and rock and smile at her baby, while she sent warm thoughts to Mulder and Walter, hoping that one or the other might have a psychic moment and know she was thinking of them, and also hoping fervently that neither one got eaten by goats.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 14: Strange Animal  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: slash  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, little one for The Host  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 14 of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: Getting to the Skinner heart of the matter, and poking gentle fun at Fox along the way.

* * *

"You're a strange animal, that's what I know. And you're a strange animal I've got to follow..."

             

Mulder was surprised to find the air at the top of the gondola lift chilly despite the bright sunshine, and he was glad that Walter had suggested a sweater. Of course, at the time of the suggestion, he had made some whiny comment about having dressed himself for a long time, now, to which Walter had replied, "yes, and badly." This was cause for a major pout until Walter capitulated, apologizing by kissing him senseless.

Mulder glanced over at the kisser in question, and frowned slightly.

Walter Skinner was staring out at the mountains, apparently deep in thought. He had his hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his jeans, and was absently scuffing the toe of one fawn coloured hiking boot across the rocky turf, kicking small pebbles through the grass seemingly without being aware of it.

Mulder eased along side him, looked at the same mountains, couldn't see what Walter was seeing, and gave the older man a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Nice mountains, Walter."

"Thanks."

They stood a moment more in silence, then:

"I came here after I got home," Walter said quietly.

"I thought Canada was where you went instead of, not after."

Walter smiled at that, looked at Mulder, looked away, and draped an arm over the younger man's shoulders. Mulder sighed.

"Do I hear a story coming on?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"Then I think we need a quitting bench."

Mulder slipped out from under Walter's arm, took his hand instead, and explained.

"You know that bench in the park just down from the office--the second one in, by the light?"

"Sure." Walter allowed Mulder to lead him to a wooden bench set just off of the footpath they were on. As they sat, he saw that they still had a spectacular view of the mountains, as well as the flora and fauna surrounding them. The bench was set in the shade of several old conifers, secluding them and making it even cooler.

"Well," Mulder continued, drawing Walter's attention away from the scenery, "whenever something at work was making me feel like shit, I'd head out to the park, to clear my head or whatever, try to get a fresh perspective or something, y'know?"

Walter nodded.

"And inevitably, Scully would always find me, we'd have some deep and meaningless conversation about the case, or her health, or mine, or whatever, and we'd convince each other to keep searching for the truth--not to quit."

"Hence the name." Walter smiled at the thought of his lover and his best friend, and the talks that must have taken place on that bench.

"So," Mulder said, "What giant fluke worm's got you down, Walter?"

"No X-Files, here, Mulder," he replied with a smile, "unless we're counting you."

Mulder just rolled his eyes and changed the subject.

"Tell me about the first time you came here."

Walter paused for a moment before speaking, gathering his thoughts and memories into some sort of cohesive order.

"A buddy of mine from high school dodged the draft here. He used to write to me once in a while."

"Oh?" Mulder arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing," Walter replied. "Most of the letters were huge socio-political rants about the great evil we were perpetuating against humanity with our dirty little war."

"Oh."

"Course, he knew it would take more than that to get me out. So, in between the 'better red than dead' speeches and 'how do you sleep at night, baby killer' rants, he described the Alberta mountains for me. Banff, Jasper, Bow Falls, the works."

"Propaganda and travel brochures. Nice." Mulder reached into the pocket of Walter's windbreaker, poked around a little longer than he needed to, and found a half-full bag of sunflower seeds. He offered some to Walter, who declined, then dug into them himself. Between munching and spitting, he asked, "So then what happened?"

"Well, you know the rest of my tired old war story." Walter leaned back on the bench and nonchalantly threw his arm around the back of it, and conveniently enough, around his lover's back as well. "When I got home, I immediately threw myself into plans for the future. School--the law, of course--getting work, hell, even dated a girl or two--"

"Rebel," Mulder teased.

"But something had happened. All the time I was making decisions, setting goals, working towards whatever future I thought I was preparing for, I kept thinking about what had happened...and then...well, let's just say I started second-guessing myself a little." He frowned at that. "Not a little," he continued, "a lot.

"I didn't trust myself."

Mulder set aside the seeds and placed a hand on his lover's leg. He didn't speak, and he let Walter keep his own silence, recognizing his need to look back at that time and reflect a moment before telling the rest of his tale. After some time had passed, Walter continued.

"Dirk had kept writing after I got home, still extolling the virtues of the mountain air--said it would clean out the stench of the jungle--"

"His name was Dirk?" Mulder asked, not quite believing it.

"He kept telling me to come visit, that it would make a new man of me. Well, suffice to say, about that time I definitely wanted to be a new man."

"Dirk?" Mulder asked again, and Walter smiled. 

"What some people won't name their kids, hey, Fox?"

Mulder gave him a sour look. "All right, so you came to visit. And?"

"And Dirk had a cabin up near the Falls. He invited me to come and stay as long as I needed to. I think I was something of a personal crusade to him. So I took him up on it, and flew into Calgary. Rented a car, drove up here, at least as far as I could, hiked the rest, and there I was."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Hardly relevant, but no." From the sound of his voice, Mulder suspected that it hadn't even been an option. A moment later, Walter confirmed it.

"He wasn't there. The cabin was there, stocked with a week's supply of food, and a year's supply of scotch. And another letter. Some happy crappy about this being a quest for me, and that I needed to do it on my own, and how my life would never be the same, and blah blah blah."

"And he was right, wasn't he?"

"He was right." A pause. "He didn't write any more after that." Another pause. "But I went home from here with a renewed sense of faith."

Mulder had suspected something like this since that fateful moment in the car park that had simultaneously saved one life, ended another, and damaged something integral in the man who'd been responsible. But beyond making sure that any damning evidence had been erased, along with spending as much time as was possible with his lover, Mulder had been unsure of what he could do to show Walter that he had done the right thing. Now, apparently, Walter had found the course of action he needed to take, and Mulder was just glad he was here. And he was determined to do whatever Walter needed him to do, to make this man who had become the most important person in his life understand himself, believe in himself, trust himself again...

"Do you think you can do it again?" The words came out of Mulder low and hushed.

"I don't think I could do it alone this time."

"You won't be alone." The moment seemed to call for something more. Mulder turned on the bench, knocking over the bag of sunflower seeds and dumping them onto the ground at their feet. Neither man noticed. Hazel eyes locked on chocolate ones as Mulder leaned closer and touched Walter's mouth with his own, lightly at first, then with more serious intent. Walter closed his eyes.

Then opened them wide when a sudden rustling sound at their feet caught Mulder's attention and he pulled away.

"Hey, look at that," Walter exclaimed with sudden delight.

A chipmunk had made a dash for the spilled seeds, scooped several into its mouth and then run off again. Both men sat frozen, hardly daring to breathe, and they were rewarded for their silence a minute later when two more of the small rodents carefully approached them, sat up on their haunches as if taking stock of the threat posed by the two big lumps on the bench, then reached for seeds with an almost human like delicacy.

"That's great." Walter was grinning hugely, but keeping his words whispered, so as not to scare the tiny animals as they nibbled the snack Mulder had accidentally given them.

Mulder was not so impressed. In fact, he seemed a little nervous.

"They're chipmunks," he whispered back. "Just rats with racing stripes, Walter." Rabid thoughts flitted through his mind.

"I don't think so. They're cute."

"Cute?" Mulder recognized at once that he was now in the presence of that part of Walter's personality that had decided that 'puppy' was an acceptable nickname for a forty year old, and he didn't know whether to be happy about it, or annoyed.

More chipmunks wandered close to them as they continued to watch, some of them snatching seeds on the run, some boldly sitting and eating them right at their feet.

"Cute," Walter confirmed. "Look at that one," he added, nodding in the direction of one of the animals, which, to Mulder's well-trained eye looked just like every other one. "He looks like you."

"Thanks," Mulder replied sarcastically.

"Seriously." There was barely suppressed laughter in Walter's voice now. "Look at him, all bright-eyed, inquisitive, curious..." A snort escaped him, and he put a hand over his mouth, but his eyes were still twinkling with unreleased mirth.

Mulder shot him a dangerous look, muttering, "Walter, I'm warning you..."

Another smothered sound, suspiciously giggle-like in nature. "I think he's searching for the truth...or an acorn!" And with that the laughter he'd barely been holding in check escaped him and he fell back on the bench dramatically, rich laughter rolling out of him, scaring the hell out of all the furry woodland creatures in the vicinity except for the one sitting next to him on the bench.

"You are such an asshole!" Mulder exclaimed, slapping his shoulder lightly with the back of his hand, but Walter could hear the humour in his tone, and he knew that the other man's posturing was simply for show.

"I am, I really am." Walter agreed, slipping off his glasses and wiping tears from his eyes. All the chipmunks but one had disappeared, and the last one was sitting some distance away now, alternating its bright gaze between the men and the last of the seeds on the ground. Walter reached over Mulder to scoop up a few of the seeds, and toss them in the general direction of the creature, who seemed to regard him with something like gratitude as it eagerly crammed the seeds into it's mouth.

"So help me, Walter, if you even try saying 'the seeds are out there', I will be forced to kill you with my bare hands." Mulder warned.

The last of Walter's laughter died away, but he couldn't erase the smile, and he knew that most of it had nothing to do with chipmunks. This smile was for himself, and for Mulder, and for the feeling he had that everything was going to go just the way it should, and that he'd made the right decision. And not just the decision to come here, to renew his sense of self in a place that offered both comfort and clarity, but also the decision to bring Mulder along with him. Something cold and mistrusting that had been riding shotgun in his heart was suddenly bailing out, and he felt good--really good--for the first time since the shooting. He silently thanked his old friend, long gone now, for showing him what could be, as well as what was, and giving him this gift that was going to work again, renew him again.

"Let's go, puppy," he said, standing abruptly and holding out his hand. "I want to take you into the city tonight."

Mulder caught his grip and pulled himself up to his feet, still frowning in that not-serious way. "You compared me to a rodent, Walter. It's gonna take more than wining and dining to make up for that one."

Suddenly he was trapped, albeit willingly, in Walter's strong embrace, and shivering as his lover growled softly in his ear, "I'm sure I'll find plenty of ways to earn your forgiveness."

Mulder was pretty sure he would, too.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Part 15: Last Worthless Evening  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: WIP  
Rating: NC17 for violence and illegal activities  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 15 of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: The prerequisite gay bar scene, complete with prerequisite drag queen, and other nasty types.This one's a whole different point of view, but that's what happens when you work with drag queens!

* * *

"This is the last worthless evening that you'll have to spend-just gimme a chance to show you how to love again..."

          

Bianca sighed out a huge plume of cigarette smoke, threw her wig onto the table, and rolled her Mac-enhanced eyes at the cop sitting across from her.

"How many times do I hafta tell ya? I didn't see nothin'. Flo's the one who called you guys. Why you want to keep me here? Do you have any idea how long I've been tucked?"

The cop just smiled patiently and said, "You were there when it went down, Bianca. We just need to know what happened."

"I didn't even know those guys," she protested. Then she crushed out her cigarette and asked in a less strident tone, "Are they okay?"

The cop gave her another patient look, and replied, "They're fine. We got their statements, Mobile patched the guy up, and they've both been released." A pause. "They were from the States." Another pause, gauging the queen's reaction. "You never saw them before?"

Bianca pulled another cigarette out of the pack in her purse. The cop lit it for her.

"Come on, hon, I just need to know what you saw. Then you can go home and untuck, and I can go home and get laid. It's been a long night, whaddya say?"

Another sigh from a perfectly painted mouth. Another cloud of smoke. The cop watched expectantly.

"All right. But only 'cos you're cute."

BIANCA'S STORY: "They came in just as I was finishing what I must tell you was the finest rendition of "From New York To L.A." that Boystown had ever seen. I mean, I was so on, Mary! I did my usual kiss- kiss-bow to the crowd thing, and Izora got back on the mike, reminding everyone of how fabulous I was. It was only when she faltered that I looked over to the back bar, where they were standing in line. Now you know someone's hot if they can shut Izora up!

I could tell right away that they were a couple. They were just standing there, not, like, pawing at each other or anything, but after a while, you get so you can tell. It looked like a May/December thing to me, if May was a dark haired hottie and December had shoulders out to there!

Then I realized that Izora was talking again-not to put too fine a point on it, she was telling me to get the fuck off the stage, and I realized that I had let my concentration slip while checking out the new guys. Oops, my bad. Whatever. I shot her a dirty look, took one last bow and slipped behind the curtain, already tugging at the hook and eye nightmare that was the front of the dress I was wearing, getting ready to change for my next number.

I couldn't make out what Izora was saying, but I suspected she was commenting on Shoulders and his friend, and the wolf whistles and applause a moment later confirmed it for me. Then Roxy was rushing by me, nearly knocking me off my heels, and the music for her number started. She was doing Liza Minelli-I love that number, I never get tired of seeing it. Oh, well, just makes me look better.

I changed into a fabulous white satin evening gown, with all these sequins and bugle beads and all that-it looks so good on me! I love that it just slips on, too, so I don't muss the hair, there's no buttons to fuck with-and with nails, believe me that can be a real bitch. Sorry, moving on.

I snuck a look out front, checking to see if Roxy was sucking as bad as I figured she would be, and she was. And then, of course, I had to look for those guys. 

See, over there, those stairs on the side? We use 'em when it's not busy, but for shows and stuff, people sit there to watch, and they were sitting there, right up front! 

The young guy, he was smiling at Roxy's nasty chicken lady lip-synching, but not in a bitchy way-he looked like he was actually enjoying her 'Liza circa nineteen seventy *snort*' shtick. They were much closer now, and even though he wasn't my type, I could see he was making an impression on a lot of the folks around him, and he was pretty cute. He was wearing jeans, and a long sleeved v-neck t-shirt-blue, I think, maybe mint, hard to say, once the lights get going and all, and we keep it pretty dark most of the time, but, anyway, whatever. The shirt was tight, and he had a pretty tasty body going on under it, that's what I noticed. He was drinking water, and when he put that bottle to those pretty lips and sucked, I almost revised my opinion on what exactly my type was. Then the other guy slid a hand through hottie guy's hair, and it was all about Mr. Shoulders!

Holy butch, batman! He was like, super hot, great chest, chiseled features, tight pants, but not too tight. Bald, which totally does it for me, don't ask me why, it just does. I had a moment when I wondered just how those glasses would look folded ever so neatly on my headboard, and then I was distracted-and just a little pissed about it, I might add-by applause as Roxy finished tormenting the crowd. I pulled back so I would be out of her way as she ran back stage to grab a cocktail before her last number, and waited while Izora took a couple of cheap shots at her, then began introducing me again. 

It was my last number of the night, and I was doing Cybil's Blue Moon, which of course is my signature song. It's smoky and bluesy and totally romantic, I think, and apparently so did Hottie and Shoulders. I glanced over at them, and realized immediately that number one, the big guy knew the song, and number two, I no longer existed in their universe. 

Now, I'm not vain or whatever, but normally this would piss me off. It's like 'hello! Fabulous queen on stage! Pay attention!' You know what I mean? And if you're going to get all gushy like, for god's sake, get a room! But this was different. I don't know why, it just was, okay. 

They were staring at one another, and the big guy still had his hand in the younger guy's hair, and he was just finger-combing it, y'know-brushing it back outta the guy's eyes. Hottie had a hand on his lover's thigh, and that was it. It wasn't like they were jacking each other off, or anything nasty like that. But you could just tell that they were totally into each other in a way that you don't see very often. Whatever they had goin' on, it was hotter in its way than the stripper I'd seen last night, and I actually flubbed a line-unheard of, for me! I mean, look who you're talking to! But I couldn't help it. It was-there are no words for it, man, it just worked, you know?

I kind of eased my way over in their general direction, y'know, still singing my heart out and not wanting to intrude on their 'thing', their 'moment', their 'whatever', but at the same time wanting them to know that I was singing for them, at least a little. Okay, so maybe I was singing for the wage, and for Steve, the DJ that is the current object of my affections, but I was singing for these two guys too. I'm sentimental that way, ask anyone!

I poured as much soul as Aretha Franklin in Harlem into that last chorus, and the big guy suddenly looked up. I caught the tail end of the smile he'd been giving the other guy, and holy shit it nearly knocked me on my ass! And I mean in that good way-in that gooey sweet I-love-you-so-much way that I have never actually encountered yet-maybe some day, but in the meantime, I almost popped my tuck, just from that smile.

He brought the thing down a notch or two once he realized he'd passed it on to me, but he didn't frown or anything. Just kind of nodded like he knew I was giving them something special, and then his eyes-which by the way were super dark and sexy-I know that's probably not relevant, but at the time it sure was to me-anyway, then he looked back at his partner there, and I'd lost them again. The young guy hadn't even glanced in my direction-he only had eyes for his big guy-not that I blame him, and I wasn't jealous, if that's what you're thinking. 

I finished up the song, took my bows, and smiled and winked at the guys, who had stopped falling into one another like tricks into Roxy's hoop long enough to toss some enthusiastic applause my way.

Instead of going backstage, I wandered off to the main bar, figuring I deserved a cocktail or maybe two, just because I am, after all, me. Plus singing in heels is thirsty work! You should try it some time.

Roxy did her thing-more Liza-ooh, big surprise there. Then Izora finished up the show with that cover of The Dance-the rockin' out one that she does so well. I kept one eye on the stage, thinking about stealing some of her moves, but I kept an eye on the couple of the year, too, just 'cos they were so darned cute. 

When Izora was finished, they moved with everyone else off of the stairs, and took up a stance next to them, where the railing is. Hottie guy leaned on the railing, still sipping at his water bottle in that "I give great head!' way, and Shoulders leaned up against him, kind of sandwiching him in between the railing and his big ol' bod. Okay, so now I was getting a little jealous. 

I could see them talking, but couldn't hear them over the music. The young guy kept looking over at the dance floor, which, now that the show was over, was filling up with guys and girls shaking their thangs all over as Crazy Steve turned up the jams. I suspected one of them wanted to dance, and I think if Hottie had convinced the other one to step out onto the floor, I really would have popped my tuck. I was far enough away that my appreciation of his hips and ass were going unnoticed, but I just knew he'd be a hell of a dancer. I know, I know, I'm getting there.

They didn't argue, but they did disagree, I guess, but they made up pretty damned quick, with a kiss that made me drop my drink. And I wasn't the only one. You seen the Princess Bride? No? Figures. Well, it was that kinda kiss. Long and slow and I could feel my lipstick heating up just watching. If I had a picture of it, I'd give away every stroke book I own-it was that hot.

If I kept watching, my head was going to explode, and I do mean both of them, and that dress is too tight and too white to be messing around in, so I took off. I made my way back to the dance floor, intending to go backstage and hang out in the DJ booth, maybe give Steve a little of what that couple was making me feel, and I just happened to see them heading towards the front door as I slipped through the curtain. I gave the dark haired guy a little mental salute, thinking that if I had just been kissed that way, I'd be heading home light speed myself. I could only imagine what Mr. Perfect-n-bald-n-tasty would look like from above-phew! Jesus, let me get another smoke!

Roxy was still in the back, and Flo too, and they looked up as I came in, looking all furtive and secret agent man, and I immediately knew what they were doing. And I wanted in. I decided that if I wasn't going to stalk the sexy boys back to wherever it was they were going to fuck like bunnies, I should take the edge off the night, and go smoke up with the girls.

That decided, I suggested we take it outside. Not that anyone would really mind if we did it there in the dressing room-god knows pot is the least illegal thing that's gone on back there-should I be telling you this? Aw, hell, it's my word against yours now, right? I'll deny everything-oh, okay, then. Now where was I? Oh, yeah, I said we should take it out to the alley, 'cos ever since Izora's last boyfriend OD'd, she's had a real bug up her ass about the drug thing. Not that I blame her, but, you know, whatever.

So the three of us slipped out the back door, and Flo had just lit up a fat one when we hear this scuffle-like noise, and someone swearing. I looked out to the parking lot, and there, beside this super sweet Blazer-what? So I know cars-so what? Like, just because I wear a dress means I don't know from rack and pinion steering? Come on, buddy, ditch the stereotypes! 

Hottie guy was on his knees, holding his stomach, and this absolutely icky guy was standing over him, calling him a fucking faggot! I freaked immediately, and started to run forward, wondering briefly where Shoulders was. Flo grabbed my arm and made a shushing noise. I didn't want to just stand there, but then Flo did this dumb charades thing, miming a phone call, and I realized he was gonna call the cops. Roxy was as helpful as ever, slipping back inside as soon as she realized what was happening, and I thought maybe I would serve her a shooter full of sewing machine oil at the next function. Flo pointed at my eyes, then at the guys, and I realized he wanted me to keep watch. Then he was gone to find the phone.

I pressed back against the door, willing the bad dude not to see me, even if I was looking fabulous. But he only had eyes for his prize, as it were, and I winced as he swore again, and booted my hottie in the head. Hottie guy crumpled to the pavement, and again I wondered where the hell the big guy was. If anyone should have been swooping in to save the day, it was the guy with the pecs of steel, not Bianca the big queen. 

Then I heard Hottie say, quite clearly, "Fuck you." And I thought for sure the other guy was going to kill him.

Wait just a minute; I need another drink, and another smoke. I'm getting to it. Now look, you're the one who wanted me to tell you what happened, and now you can just hold your water till I've got it straight in my head, okay. Jeebus!

Okay, that's better. You ever had a KeKe and orange? It's key lime-a-licious! Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, it all just happened so fast.

The asshole grabbed Hottie by the hair, and was about to put a fist in his face, when I heard what at first I thought was a car backfiring. I know, I know, it's Calgary, redneck capitol of Canada, but I'd never actually heard a gun before-not in real life, anyway. Then I saw the dumb homophobe back off so quickly he dropped my hottie guy, and I could hear the poor bastard retching-I assume from the punch to his stomach.

The Neanderthal looked up and so did I, and I almost cheered when I saw Shoulders approaching with a gun in his hand. He was holding it like a seasoned pro, and I had a moment where I wondered just who the hell these guys were, and then he was telling the jerk to put his fucking hands up, and I wondered if I should do anything.

The asshole said some rather uncomplimentary things about Shoulders and his partner, and started to back away. The big guy told him to freeze, and the son-of-a-bitch responded by kicking the other guy again. I remember thinking, "Fuck! Shoot him!" But Shoulders just told him again to stop. That's kind of when you all showed up. At least, we heard the sirens. The jerk looked towards the road, but the big guy wasn't so easily distracted. I should've guessed then that maybe he handled guns for a living. He does, doesn't he? I knew it.

What did distract him though, and I'm not judging here, cos god knows I would have been distracted too, was his partner's groan. He glanced down, and asked if the guy was okay-I think he called him buddy, or bobby, or something. For a big guy, he had a pretty quiet voice, and I was still pretty far away.

As soon as he looked down, the dumb fuck who'd just knocked the shit outta some guy for no reason whatsoever showed exactly what he was made of, and ran like his ass was on fire. I saw Shoulder's track him with the gun, and again, all I could think was "shoot him!" I wish he had. But for some reason, he just stood there, gun raised, but not aimed properly. Then I clearly saw his broad beautiful shoulders slump, and he lowered the gun. Then he was on his knees next to his partner, and you know the rest.

I don't get it. He could've got the son-of-a-whore. He could have put him down like the rabid dog he was. The guy certainly deserved it, as far as I'm concerned. But he didn't shoot. And I don't know why.

Can I go home now?"

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 16: Fox On The Run  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 16 of 24, guess that makes it a series Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: This is your Mulder. This is your Mulder after a gay bashing. Any questions?

* * *

"Fox on the run."

With the refrain of the pop song he probably liked least in the world still playing in his mind, Mulder struggled blearily into consciousness. As the last vestiges of sleep rolled off of him, he wondered briefly who had replaced his eyes with boiling hot marbles, decided it was the same person who had rammed the steel spike into his stomach, and then realized he was alone.

He sat up abruptly, and the dull throb in his temples spiked angrily, making him cry out involuntarily and put his hands to his head, sure that his skull was about to shatter. After a moment or two, it didn't, and he opened his eyes experimentally.

The operation was a success, and the room slowly came into focus. Large room, beige, generic mountain art on the walls. Expensive looking carpet, real wood dresser, big television. Crappy clock radio informing him it was far too early to be awake while chirping out lousy A.M. radio seventies pop. He gave it a baleful glare, then took note of his clothes scattered on the floor. He thought there should be something else in the room, and it took several minutes to figure out that the something missing was his lover.

"Walter?" The query came out husky and abused. He tried clearing his throat, and it only made him feel nauseated. Lowering his head, he took several shallow breaths through his mouth until the churning in his stomach abated, then decided he should get up and find the other man, make sure he was all right.

This decided, he lay back down again. Taking a second or two to relish the softness of the down-stuffed pillow under his head, he closed his eyes and started categorizing the various and sundry aches and pains in his body, skipping briefly over the one that flared up in his worried heart. He ran a hand experimentally over his torso, winced, and recounted the events of the previous night.

'Stupid,' he berated himself immediately. It had been stupid not to leave the bar together. Stupid to let Walter go with a kiss and a "be right there", just so he could get the website address for the club. And double stupid for not watching out for strangers bearing homophobic gifts. After the parking lot slurpee incident less than a week ago, he should have been more cautious. After all, he was a trained field investigator. Or he had been. Checking out an area before approaching it should have been second nature to him. It used to be.

Apparently it still was to Skinner, else he never would have had his gun. What had he told the cop again? That he'd seen some suspicious looking guy skulking around the parking lot. That he'd gotten his gun out of the truck, and then headed back to the exit to get Mulder. That they must have missed each other somehow in the rows of cars, and then-

'And then I caved and he choked,' he thought. And what should have been a simple "so long, asshole", had turned into an ass-kicking he definitely could have lived without, and another bitter shot to add to Walter's already potent neurosis cocktail.

Not that Walter had said anything. But he didn't have to. Mulder knew his lover pretty well by now, and he had picked up on the other man's subtle cues, not needing to be a psychologist to assess the damage.

He remembered Walter cradling him in his arms, his litany of whispered apologies nearly drowning out the wail of the ambulance and police sirens. Shades of gray repeatedly washed over the scene for him, as he struggled to maintain consciousness, and time seemed to jump. The next thing he knew, Walter was helping him into the ambulance, mindful of his injuries, and he recalled the big man hovering over him just a little too much for the paramedics. He thought he remembered one of them trying to brush his lover off. Instead, Walter had brushed them off, growling at them until he had assured himself that Mulder was going to be okay. 

He remembered drifting for a few minutes then, floating away on the sound of Walter's voice, feeling Walter's hand gripping his tightly. 

Then coming back to reality with a howl when it was physically determined that he was all right, save for a few cuts and bruises. Nothing was broken, but that didn't stop the pain. He recalled ice, bandages and a shot, and blearily looking for Walter, finding him standing outside of the ambulance talking to a man in a uniform-a cop, he thought, but couldn't be sure. He saw Walter point at him, and then show the uniformed man his gun. Those shades of gray had begun sneaking up on him again, and he wondered for a moment if he was going to die as he glimpsed a vision in white-unarguably the ugliest angel he had ever seen.

He had roused himself when he heard Walter's voice.

"Fox? Fox, come on, wake up."

He could still hear the naked plea that had replaced Walter's characteristic growl, and he remembered being a little scared by it. Walter's hands were gripping his own again, tight enough to hurt. 

One of the paramedics pushed a pill into his mouth, and he swallowed reflexively even as the pressure on his mouth made him groan. Walter was saying something, but he couldn't hear him properly.something about a hospital.

He jerked himself out of his memory with a start, thinking 'am I in a hospital?' immediately followed by 'why am I not in the hospital?'

"Because I hate hospitals," he muttered aloud. And Walter knew that. He supposed he must have made some complaint, or argument that had him now lying in a comfortable hotel bed rather than a rock hard industrial one, but he honestly couldn't recall. All that was left in his mind was the memory of a long drive through the dark, Walter's touch, and Walter's voice-more apologies, more assurances.

With that last thought, he decided to try sitting up again. He was more successful this time, and by successful, he meant keeping his balance in an upright position without wanting to faint or throw up. Eyes open again, with a nasty throb in the right one that told him more about the shiner he was probably sporting than any mirror could. He glanced down at himself, and was less than thrilled to see the huge boot-shaped bruise that had bloomed on his stomach overnight.

Any thoughts of just lying back and wallowing in his own battered lack of fabulousness were squelched by Walter's persistent absence. Moving like a ninety year old with bladder control issues, he pushed back the covers on the bed, and carefully swung his legs over the side. Another few minutes to debate the merits of this action with his aching head and rolling stomach, and then he forced himself to his feet, wondering again why Walter wasn't here, then wondering where exactly here was.

Feeling naked and achy, because he was, he moved slowly to the bureau, and discovered the answer to both questions. A note, scrawled on Banff Springs Hotel stationary, short, to the point and in Walter's neat hand.

Fox:  
You're okay. Get some more sleep.  
Back soon.   
No worries.  
Walter

No worries. That line nagged at him for a moment. It sounded familiar, and he thought he might have read it somewhere, seen it in a book or on TV or something. And he seemed to remember that 'no worries' was some sort of code in the story for 'plenty of fucking worries'.

He thought he should take Walter's advice and go back to bed. Everything in his body was aching, not just his head and stomach, the two main targets of his assailant. More sleep would definitely help, and maybe when he woke up, Walter would be there, and they could talk about what had happened. And his lover would make him feel better, take care of him, help him.

Decision made, he hobbled painfully into the bathroom and started the shower, glancing only briefly at himself in the mirror, grimacing at the butterfly stitches and confirming the black eye. He wasn't going to win any beauty contest today, that was a fact.

He thought about his and Walter's conversation on the mountain just the day before as he let the hot water wash away a lot of parking lot grit and a little tension. He thought about where they were, where they'd been, and where they planned to go as he accidentally re-opened the cut on his forehead. He thought about his lover's state of mind and those whispered apologies as he rinsed shampoo out of his hair and groaned aloud when the water pressure catalogued all the bruises on his head and body for him.

It took a lot longer than usual to dress, and he dimly realized that they would soon have to be finding a Laundromat or a clothing store. Jeans, t-shirt, socks, then lacing up his boots with all the efficiency of a three year old with attention deficit disorder.

He thought he should be angry when he couldn't find the truck keys, but it only increased his worry, while at the same time giving him a clearer sense of his destination. He found his light jacket, his wallet and a growing sense of urgency, and left the room, hoping he wouldn't scare the desk clerk too badly with his grim visage when he asked for the nearest rental car agency.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 17: The Waiting  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, maybe a little for Zero Sum--I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 17 of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: Remember, you can't have comfort without the hurt.and, as Doggett says, give a little, get a little.

* * *

"You take it on faith, you take it to the heart, the waiting is the hardest part."

Mulder killed Tom Petty's whining along with the car's engine, then just sat quietly for a moment, staring out the window at the Blazer parked next to him, and wishing he'd taken an aspirin or ten before leaving the hotel. 

He'd bullied the desk clerk into giving him both directions and a courtesy car, and had found his way easily through the small mountain town to the Bow Falls turn off. He'd followed the road signs to this parking lot near the top of a forested mountain, and just beyond the perimeter of the lot he could see a hiking trail snaking up into the trees. He opened the car window, breathed cool, clean air, and could hear water splashing in the distance.

He got out of the car, locked doors and windows, and the breeze that ruffled his hair felt good on his cut and bruised face. He stood silently, tipped his face into the breeze, and the sounds of the forest soothed him. Then, with a resolute shrug, he started up the path.

Once out of view of the main road, the path steepened dramatically, and the sound of water increased in volume. Mulder felt something pulling uncomfortably in his gut, and he put a hand to his stomach as he continued along the path. Through the trees to the left of the path he caught glimpses of a stream winding it's way through the woods, and he almost veered off to investigate, but he knew where his priorities lay, and it wasn't with a babbling brook.

A set of rough hewn wooden steps had been slotted into the side of a steep hill, and he frowned grimly at them, then resolutely started climbing them, one hand still holding his stomach, where the bruised muscles complained painfully, while he used the other to grip a wooden banister of sorts, to help pull his body up. Surprisingly enough, his headache seemed to be fading, and he attributed this to the mountain air, then silently chastised himself for sounding like a travel brochure.

The first thing he saw at the top of the stairs was the waterfall. As he paused to catch his breath, he marveled at the torrent that the stream had become. While he had been ascending the mountain, the stream had been descending from the snow capped peak until it reached this spot, where it looked like part of the mountain had been sheared off somehow, and the water spilled over the edge with a muted roar. 

A moment later, he spotted Skinner sitting on a large rock overlooking the falls, and something cold and heavy that had been residing in his heart fell away with a sigh.

Walter had his back to him, and he approached the rock warily, not wanting to startle his lover, but unable to believe that the man wouldn't know he was there. After all, he thought, where else would I be?

He stepped on a twig that snapped loudly, and he saw Walter's head jerk up a little, but that was it. He made no move to turn around, no sound to greet Mulder. Disconcerted but undaunted, Mulder continued his approach. As he got closer, he saw that the rock was carved in places, and he had a suspicion that Walter had led him to a make-out point. He almost smiled at that. Almost.

He reached the back of the rock, and still Walter remained motionless and mute. With one hand he reached out towards his lover, then hesitated, and dropped his questing fingers to brush lightly across large faded but still legible letters on his side of the rock: W.K.+M.T. A thought crossed his mind, and he hoped fervently that W.K. and M.T. were happy, and that he and Walter could find there way back to a place where they might want to carve their initials in a rock. Then he came around to the front of the stone slab, and sat down next to the other man, surprised at how good it felt just to sit. He hadn't come that far, but apparently mountain hiking of any duration was not on the prescribed list of recovery aids for a parking lot ass kicking.

He turned his head up and closed his eyes, letting the warm sun soak into his skin. It was weak warmth at best, this far up, and he was glad to have worn a jacket, regardless of the sunlight.

A stifled choking noise caused him to turn his attention to the man beside him.

Skinner had one leg pulled up to his chest while the other dangled over the edge of the rock. His hands were clasped around his knee, and he was pressing his cheek to his leg, face turned away from Mulder. His shoulders were shaking a little, but that was the only indication of his distress.

Mulder watched him for a long moment, feeling vaguely uneasy. Finally, he reached out a hand, but paused a hair's breath away from touching his lover's broad back, unable to bring himself to make contact, suddenly unnerved by the broken slump of Walter's shoulders.

Neither man moved for a moment, and then Walter turned and raised his head.

He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes were dark and shiny with repressed tears. A single wet track coursed down one cheek, evidence of a slip in his desperate bid for control.

Mulder made some small dismayed noise, but Walter's words rolled over it, thick and gruff.

"Fox, you shouldn't be up."

Mulder pulled a face at his lover, a 'you've got to be kidding' frown, and his hand finally found the will to complete it's journey as he splayed his fingers across the cotton-clad expanse of Walter's back.

Walter appeared not to notice the gesture, and continued staring at his lover. As Mulder locked eyes with him, another tear slipped free, and Walter looked away, choosing to stare at the water crashing on jagged rocks far below them.

"How's your head?" he muttered.

"Walter," Mulder kept his voice low but firm. "I am going to be fine. How's *your* head?" He squeezed the other man's shoulder, hard.

Walter didn't answer at first-couldn't answer. Then he brushed Mulder's hand off his back where it was still testing the tension there, and took both hands in his own in a tight grip-almost too tight. Mulder felt something in his fingers shift painfully, but said nothing.

Walter's touch went from painful to nearly non-existent in the next heartbeat, and Mulder closed his eyes with a sigh, feeling those familiar fingertips brushing lightly over his features, assessing the damage to his face and soothing it at the same time.

He opened his eyes abruptly when Walter spoke.

"I once said I'd never be a party to murder." He forced the words out in a trembly sort of a sigh that had Mulder leaning in close to hear him.

"In defense, or resistance. To save myself, or others." His hands were back around Mulder's, crushing them again. "But never.

"Last night, Fox, I would have gladly emptied my gun into that fucking bastard-"

"Walter-"

"Like Krycek. Without just cause. For no reason-no good reason at all-"

"Walter-"

"But he was hurting you! That's all I could see! And I wanted to end it." 

Mulder didn't know if Walter was talking about Krycek now, or the asshole from last night. Either way, he knew that the words had to come out. He knew that his lover had at last confronted this particular inner demon, and he had to verbalize it to best know how to fight it. So he stopped trying to interrupt for a moment, gave back as good as he was getting in the hand -squeezing department, and let Walter have his say.

"I only knew that I had to stop it! And something cold-cold and bitter-came over me-I don't know how else to describe it. I would have shot him again. And again. And-" He turned his face away from Mulder again, afraid of what he might see reflected in his lover's eyes. "And I didn't have to. It wasn't self-defense. It was murder. Plain and simple. I'm a murderer. A killer. A thug."

"You didn't kill that guy last night," Mulder offered in a whisper.

"I knew if I even put one bullet into him, a standard shoulder take down-" he laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't have stopped. I would have blown him away."

"Walter." Mulder's voice was loud and clear now, and he jerked his hands out of Walter's grip, taking his face in his hands and forcing him to look at him. 

"You listen to me. What you did last night-what you did to Alex Krycek-it was no more than what needed to be done. Don't you ever doubt that. Are you hearing me?" He wanted to shake Walter, maybe slap him a little. He settled for tracing another errant tear with his thumb, brushing it away with infinite gentleness. Then it was his turn to look away, not in fear or embarrassment, but in order to gather his thoughts into a cohesive narrative of sorts.

"Walter, when I first met you, I thought you were a typical bureau paper pusher. Another by-the-book jerk that would stand between me and the truth I was seeking so desperately. I didn't want to like you. I didn't even want to know you."

Walter's eyes got wide, and Mulder hurried his next words.

"But you showed me something different. You showed me that you were a man of honor. Of integrity." His hands slipped down Walter's cheeks to rest on his shoulders. "You stood between me and a shitstorm, and never even got your shirt dirty-"

Walter snorted derisively at that, and Mulder did give him a little shake this time.

"Don't, Walter. I'm not stupid. I know the things you did. The things you had to do. You had to walk that line daily. That line that would keep me honest. Keep me whole. And you did it right. Even when I thought-" He bit off the rest of that sentence, knowing Walter wouldn't hear the rest of what he had to say if he articulated the hurt he'd felt when he'd thought he'd been betrayed. "You never stopped being that man I learned to admire. That man I learned to love." His voice dropped. "To trust." Now he glared hard at Skinner, desperate to make him listen, to make him believe. "He wouldn't stop, and you knew that. You only did what needed to be done. You protected me, and you did it the only way you could. It was right. And last night you did it again." Mulder shook his head even before Walter could respond. "Don't tell me what you did was immoral, or evil, or bad. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. And you know that. Walter, I trust you. Why can't you?"

He didn't think Walter would answer, but a moment later, soft words tumbled from the older man's mouth.

"I want to."

"Then know this, Walter: I will always trust you. Trust your actions, trust your beliefs. And trust your love for me enough to tell you when I think you're wrong.

"You're not wrong."

A calm fell between them then. Walter's shoulders grew less stiff under Mulder's hands, and he loosened his grip, but didn't let go entirely. His head was starting to ache harder now, but he ignored it, waiting to see if his lover had been paying attention.

"Is this what I'm here for?" He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Mulder, but his lover hung on every word. "This is what I'm here for." He gave Mulder a sad smile. "This is what you're here for."

"I guess it is."

Walter hugged him fiercely then, wrapping his arms around him tight enough to make him groan.

"Oh, hell, Fox, I'm sorry! You shouldn't even be up-I-I'm so sorry!"

"Walter?" 

"Fox?"

"Get a little, give a little, big guy." He slid off the rock, winced at the pins and needles in his feet, and gave the falls one more glance, thinking he might like to come back here again some time. He held out a hand, and Walter took it, and stood in front of him.

"Take me home, Walter. Or, barring that, take me to a classy hotel, make a fuss over me, and show me you love me."

They exchanged weary smiles.

"Are you looking for a little comfort, Puppy?" Walter may have been talking about himself.

"Aren't we all?"

"I guess so."

"Besides," he added as they clasped hands and started walking back towards the steps, "I don't think I'll be ready for any of my usual athletic sex games until, oh, at least after noon."

No laugh, despite his hope for it, but an increased pressure on his hand, and another smile, and Mulder thought that might be the best he could hope for, for now. He knew the bridge had been crossed, and he trusted himself, trusted Walter, trusted the future.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 18: Jet Boy Jet Girl  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: September 6, 2001   
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: WIP  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 18 of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: It must be after noon.things get back to normal for our intrepid heroes-and by normal I mean hot and flustered.Warning, this is an exercise in dialogue. If ya like it, tell me. If ya think it sucks, tell me.

* * *

I took his hand and kissed his lips  
He looked at me with such a smile my face turned red  
We booked a room into the Ritz  
Ooh ooh ooh ooh, he gave me head.

Mulder closed his eyes, slid further down into the deep, hot bathwater, and tried to ignore the persistent knocking on the door.

"Fox?" the soft voice was harder to ignore, but he gave it a shot.

"Fox?" A little stronger now, with just a hint of worry.

"Hmmm?" The heat of the bath made him feel lazy and inarticulate.

"Don't drown in there." 

"Don't plan to," he answered with all the petulance of a five year old talking to his mother.

Silence for a minute, and he stretched arms and legs, and noticed the nasty ache in his stomach had dulled considerably.

Another knock.

"Are you hungry?"

He had to think about that one. Was he hungry? He tried to remember when he'd last eaten, and realized that it had been before they'd gone to the club. It seemed like days ago, although he didn't really feel like eating. He only realized that he hadn't answered when there came another knock and a rephrasing of the question.

"Fox."

"What?" His 'relaxing' bath was turning into anything but.

"I said, did you want something to eat?"

"Just you," he whispered with a sly smile that he was glad Walter wasn't there to see.

"What was that?"

"Not hungry," he said, louder.

"All right, then. Thirsty?" Apparently Walter was determined to fuss at him regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

"Walter." There was a hint of warning in his voice.

"Beer?" An unexpected offer from the other side of the door.

"I haven't been in here that long-when did you have time to go out for beer?"

"Off-sale downstairs," replied Walter as he entered the bathroom carrying two bottles. "It's Canadian, though." He handed one of the long-necked brown bottles to Mulder.

"S'all right," he replied, taking a sip and finding it strong and cold and just what he wanted. "Thanks."

"No problem," Walter sat down beside the tub, toyed with a washcloth, sipped his beer. "Want me to wash your back?"

Mulder let the hand with the beer in it hang over the side of the tub. He had sat up a little when his lover had come into the room, but now he reclined again, letting his head nearly slip beneath the surface as he muttered, "No, I want you to fuck me."

"How am I supposed to hear you when you're talking into the water, Fox?"

He brought his head up, then the rest of his body, and set the beer on the floor.

"Yeah, wash my back."

Walter set his own beer aside, found soap and stroked it firmly up and down Mulder's back, making his lover groan as his large hands pressed and stretched tense muscles.

"Too hard?"

"No such thing," Mulder replied. Walter grinned and slipped one soapy hand around to the front of Mulder's body, splaying his fingers across his chest.

"Tease," he whispered, nipping at an earlobe.

"Hey, I'm not the one who's feeling up his lover inappropriately," Mulder countered.

"Sorry." Walter tried to pull away, but Mulder caught his arm and held him in place.

"Was I complaining? I'm just pointing out the facts." He reached for his beer, and Walter kissed his neck.

"Like Joe Friday," Walter's voice was muffled as he pressed his lips to Mulder's pulse, then pulled back, keeping one arm still round the man while he found his own beer.

"I loved that show as a kid," Mulder said.

"Me, too."

"I didn't think you ever were a kid, Walter." Mulder was surprised to find his beer bottle empty.

"What did you think I was?" Mulder could hear the frown.

"An FBI clone, of course," he replied easily.

"Ah, yes, I think one of your reports mentioned the "Grow Your Own Assistant Director Project." Run by Riticulans, wasn't it?" 

"Smart ass-ow!" Mulder had loosened his grip on Walter's arm, and his lover had begun doing interesting and vaguely arousing things with his hand, tracing the muscles of his chest with his fingers, then moving lower, where he inadvertently put too much pressure on the bruises across Mulder's stomach.

"Sorry, puppy." Again he tried to pull away, and again Mulder stopped him.

"Hey, no worries, Walter. I'm just still a little tender."

"But-"

"No butts. At least, not yet." Mulder tipped his head back and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Walter laugh.

"Do you have any idea how demented you look when you leer like that?"

"All part of my charm-hey!" As Mulder was speaking, Walter was letting his hand wander again, carefully avoiding his stomach. He had to lean forward a bit, but was able to squeeze a thigh lovingly, and then let his touch drift left.

"This part of the charm, too?" he asked quietly, offering a lecherous look of his own. He set his beer bottle down and splashed his other hand into the water.

"Unh-huh-ohhh." Mulder leaned back and let his lover's hands wander over the evidence of his increasing arousal.

"All part of *my* charm," Walter whispered in his ear, his voice low and growly. The sound shot straight to Mulder's groin.

"Mmm.s'very charming."

Another touch, another stroke, another pull, and;

".Very, very charming.oh, yeah, like that, ohhh-hey!" Mulder yelped in alarm as the hands and the sensations they were producing were yanked away.

"I'm not getting in there with you," Walter said, breathing nearly as hard as Mulder.

"Aw, come on, big guy, I know how you like your bubble baths." Mulder tugged on a forearm that felt like steel.

"Thanks, no, Fox. How's your beer?"

"Neglected," he replied sullenly, and he wasn't talking about the beer.

"What?"

"Okay, I'm getting out now."

"Need a hand?"

"What do you think?" He was talking about the handjob Walter had been performing on him so spectacularly, but when he rose to his feet, he found the combination of the hot bath, a beer drank too quickly on an empty stomach, and the fabulous rendition of 'the homophobe tango' that he had performed last night had all conspired to make him a whole lot unsteady on his feet. 

Walter helped him, and then gave the bruises on his torso and face, which were standing out cruelly in the harsh bathroom light, an anguished look.

"Oh, Fox, your poor stomach. Your face-"

"Never mind my face."

"I'm so sorry-"

"Apologize one more time, Walter, and I'll be forced to do obscene, sexually deviant things to your body."

"Define obscene," Walter replied in his best dry office voice, unable to hide a gleam in his eye.

"Now who's leering? Pass me a towel."

"Let me do that." Walter dried him off briskly with a large bath sheet, taking special care around his cuts and bruises, then handed him a second, dry towel to wrap around his hips.

"Thanks, Walter. I feel better. Did you say something about food?"

"I thought you weren't hungry."

"Changed my mind." He held up a warning finger. "One word about it being a woman's prerogative, Walter, and-"

"I know, I know. More obscene sexual threats. You know, that's hardly threatening," he said with a smile.

Mulder gave him a mock frown. "Are you demeaning my size?" 

"Not at all." Walter gave his crotch a friendly squeeze, rejuvenating his fading erection with a single touch.

"Mmmm.Wait, I-" He was interrupted by a low, mean growling sound.

Walter laughed. "Was that your stomach, or mine?"

Mulder walked out of the bathroom with Walter trailing behind him. "Don't laugh at me, Walter," he pouted.

"I'm not," Walter replied, laughing again. "I swear." He stopped beside the bed and looked down at the phone. "Room service okay? Or did you want to got out somewhere?"

"Room service. If we eat in bed it'll save us a trip." As he spoke, he took Walter's hand, pulled him close, then shoved him hard, sending him sprawling across the bed.

"Hey!"

Mulder followed a moment later, not noticing that he'd lost his towel as he covered his lover's body with his own, and took his mouth in a hungry, lingering kiss. Walter made a sound low in his throat, kissed back fervently for several minutes while he discovered with his hands just how naked Mulder was, then pulled away with a gasp.

"It's pretty hard to reach the phone from here," he panted harshly between words.

"Phone?" The concept was suddenly lost on Mulder as he struggled with the front of Walter's pants. He nibbled on Walter's thick neck as he battled valiantly with zipper and button, and Walter groaned and thrust forward, even as he was still trying to talk.

"Phone, Fox. You know how they work, don't you."

Mulder made a satisfied smacking noise against his neck as he freed his straining cock from his pants.

"Press the buttons, hear the man, order the food. It's not-ohh-it's not rocket science---ahhh."

Mulder stroked him in a rough way that he knew he liked, and nibbled at his jaw, murmuring, "mmm.press the buttons."

"Oh, yeah, like that."

Mulder increased the pressure on Walter's cock while rubbing his own aching erection against Walter's hard thigh. He kissed him deeply, then nuzzled his cheek.

"Press the buttons," he said again, "Mmm, hear the man."

"Oh, yeah. Fox.Fox."

".Hear the man." He swooped in for another breathless kiss, and stroked and writhed more frantically.

"Oh, yeah.Oh, god, yes! That's-that's-that's---" Walter pulled Mulder closer, though not a slip of paper could have come between them. Mulder in turn slithered out of Walter's grip, slid down his lover's still fully clothed body, relishing the friction on his own bare skin. 

".Buttons pressed." he murmured, still pressing against Walter, lower now, but with the same results. ".Man heard." He could feel mounting pressure in his balls, and his breathing was growing more desperate and ragged as he forced out the last words.

"Order the food!" And he took Walter's straining cock into his mouth, swallowing him to the base and sucking hard.

"Oh, Fox!" Walter yelled, and came immediately.

Mulder swallowed and felt his own orgasm rushing to completion as he did so.

Some minutes later, Mulder still lay across Walter's legs, uncomfortably aware of the sticky mess beneath him but feeling too sated to move. Walter's hand was in his hair, stroking softly, and he almost thought he might fall asleep just where he was.

"Still hungry?" he heard Walter whisper, and he had to grin, as much at the words as at the way they were spoken in a voice still oxygen-deprived. He turned his head in negation under Walter's hand, and started to slip away. He thought he heard Walter saying something about moving; something about clean up, but responding would have taken more effort than he was willing to give. He sighed, and felt Walter twitch beneath him, and fell asleep with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 19: Will the Fetus Be Aborted  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: WIP  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, little ones for The Jersey Devil and Die Hand Die Verletzt; I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 19 of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: The song has nothing to do with this last Dana communique, but if you get the chance to check it out, please do, as I cannot stress enough the excellence of combining Jello Biafra and Mojo Nixon on a right to choose anthem done to the tune of 'Will the Circle Be Unbroken'. Note to a certain Southern Mulder-expert, and you know who you are--does this sound like him?

* * *

Fundamentalists said 'Jesus take her', she said 'I want my right to life.'-Jello Biafra and Mojo Nixon

From: fox2001@yahoo.com Block Address Add to Address Book  
To: dkscully@hotmail.com  
Subject: hey  
Date: Sun, ___ 2001 04:01

Hey, Miracle Mom!

Just a note from the mountains to let you know I am alive and well. Walter says he phoned you this morning to tell you about our Calgary adventure, and I thought I'd best allay any fears you might have, since I read an article once that linked anxiety in nursing mothers to weakened immunity in the children who receive the stress-laden milk. And we wouldn't want baby Bill to be anything but strong and healthy, right?

Anyway, you know Walter is prone to exaggeration. It wasn't that big a deal. 

I think I see you raising an eyebrow. I know I hear Walter growling. I am *not* downplaying this. I have had far more serious ass-kickings in the past. You should know; you were there for most of them. Suffice it to say, I've got some spectacular bruises, and a couple of cuts, but nothing more than that. Good thing I'm as thickheaded as you always claimed I was, isn't it? <g>

On the other hand, I think it was a pretty major event for Walter. Scratch that-I *know* it was a pretty major event. What we talked about before we left, Scully--about the Krycek situation, and his reaction to it--well, I think this latest round of beat-the-Fox opened up the whole can of worms that is Walter Skinner, and we finally got around to talking about what was going on in his head.

He's so damned closed-off sometimes, Scully. So cool and capable and in control, and I don't know what's going on with him. And then something drastic and unexpected and extreme to say the least happens, and whereas I am wearing it all on my sleeve for everyone to see, he seems to go deeper into himself, until no one, himself included, can get to the heart of the matter. I know you know what I mean. You've seen him do it as often as I have. I don't know what factors, what experiences, what sort of possibilities accepted or rejected played a part in this man's life that he is like this.

Sorry, I'm babbling. (There's that eyebrow again.) But that's what you get for not answering the phone earlier. You must be at your mother's. Presumptuous of me, I'm sure, but as I recall, you gave up on having a life round about the time I was chasing that beast woman in New Jersey, and I'm sure if you had gotten one (a life I mean) in the meantime, I would have noticed. I'm not as self-absorbed as you think I am.

In case you were wondering how I came to be contacting you through the wonders of modern technology when I am currently in the mountains of Canada, well, not to sound too cute and domestic, but I found the local library here in Banff, and decided to do a little emailing while Walter is in the Laundromat down the street, doing (obviously), the laundry. I was all in favor of simply supplementing our wardrobes with purchases from the Eddie Bauer store in Calgary, but Walter is a traditionalist, completely opposed to the take-out, disposable mentality I occasionally favor, and he prefers to do things the hard way sometimes. After some intense negotiations, I opted to let him have his way on this one. Not that headlocks give one much choice in the matter.

Probably not something you needed to know at this point, but hey, that's what your delete button is for. Besides, I know you miss my fascinating monologues. I know I miss yours.

Anyway, back to Walter (my favorite subject these days, but you knew that, too). 

Did you know Krycek had threatened your life? William's life? Mine? Walter did. And he never said a word to me. That really pissed me off at first, especially when I found out that Doggett knew about it. Not everything, of course-I told you Walter's pretty closed-mouthed-but he knew about Krycek at the end. I think maybe John and Walt got pretty close there for a while. I mean, he was with Walter when I-

That, my friend, is definitely the subject of a whole other email.

So, Walter had all these issues going on with him. With Krycek, with the bureau (I knew Kersh was trouble from the start), with his relationship with you (did you know he thought William was mine?), and of course, with me. Let's face it; you of all people should know just how "interesting" a relationship with me can be. Toss in a few additional factors that you and I didn't have to deal with, such as the same-sex thing, the age difference (which really bothers him, although I have no issue with it), and the supervisor/subordinate (or should that be insubordinate ha ha) thing, and you have a great big steaming pile of issues that would drive most people to the HR shrink in a heartbeat.

Not Walter, though. He just pressed on in his pertinacious bulldog way, resolute in his determination to make things right. He's the original good guy, Scully. You know it. I know it. And I think he even sees himself as that sometimes. And then something like this comes along, and all of a sudden his white hat has been knocked off, and trampled in the dust, and I don't think he quite knew what he was anymore. Maybe he just found out that he's as human as the next guy. Well, even Superman had to take the cape off once in a while. How else could he stay sane?

I don't mean to tell tales out of school, but I think he's found his way back to that white hat. I just mean that he's in a place now where he understands himself a little better, and can accept everything that he's done, and that has been done to him, and find peace in that understanding. I don't mean that he's all superior now, or that he doesn't still have self-doubts. We all have those, don't we? (Except for William, of course) I guess he just seems to have come to the conclusion (not without a little help from yours truly) that what he's done in the past is not going to destroy his future. And if that helps him sleep well at night, then that's what counts. 

I hope you know what I mean, Scully. You are truthfully the only person in the whole damned world that I could ever talk to like this. And even that's not saying a whole lot. I mean, when was the last time you and I sat down over lattes to gossip about boyfriends? Even I am not always capable of being the most honest and forthright person in the world. I admire that in you sometimes. You have always been able to say just what's on your mind, and stand your ground when you believe in something. I, on the other hand, have to resort to one-sided emails where I don't actually have to look you in the eye to tell you all the things that are in my heart. The psychologist in me tells me to thank my parents for that little dysfunction, but there you have it. Maybe one day we'll hit that Starbuck's and swap guy stories. In the meantime, this will have to do, and I hope you know that I appreciate your presence in the comedy of errors that is my life.

I really should be going. I am sure we are well past the rinse cycle by now, and you are probably bored to tears.

Last thought. I love him, Scully. So much some days that it frightens me. I can't imagine a life without him in it. He is, as I once heard a wise man say, my human credential. He makes me feel strong when all I feel is weak. He can make me laugh when all I want to do is cry. And he has provided walls sturdy enough to hold back all that would destroy me, be it enemies from another world, or just my own neurosis threatening to consume me. I can't imagine how in the world I could ever repay him for all he's given me, except to offer him my heart, such as it is, and be here for him in whatever capacity I can.

You have no idea how badly I want to delete that last paragraph. But if Walter can be honest with himself and with me, then it's only right that I start being honest with myself, and with my best friend. (That would be you.)

Okay, really last, last thought here. He has just come through the front door, and the librarian at the front counter (who looks suspiciously like that satanic teacher from New Hampshire) is looking at him like he's a hot fudge sundae, and she's a card carrying member of Overeaters Anonymous. I think my eyes just got as green as Alex Krycek's.

So, I'll close for now, with this final image for you: you really haven't seen anything until you've seen Walter Sergei Skinner in jeans and a t-shirt.

Dana (it even sounds funny when I type it), thanks for everything. Give William a kiss for me, and tell him his crazy uncles will be home soon.

Yours,

Mulder

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 20: Spooky  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: August 24, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: slash  
Rating: G  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, teeny tiny one for Fight The Future; I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 20 of 24, guess that makes it a series.  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: You know you can't have a songfic series without this little gem from Classics IV, since it's his dreaded nickname and all.Walter's POV this time, just a snippet of shmoop as the boys head home. Another experiment, this one present tense, which is a lot harder than you would think.

* * *

.love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.

I know he hates this song, and I know why he hates it, but he hasn't touched the radio. His lips are pursed into a thin line, and he keeps glancing back and forth between the radio and the passing scenery, but he does nothing. I know he's deferring to me yet again, thinking of me and my feelings, and shelving his own in some dusty linen closet in the back of his mind. It's supposed to make me feel better, I think, but it makes me feel like crap.

He's been doing it since our trip began, and at first I don't know if I even noticed. You would think all sorts of bells and whistles would go off whenever he acquiesced to anything I wanted, since it's definitely not his usual m.o. I've worked with the man long enough to know just how obstinate he can be. Hell, I've seen him argue points he doesn't even believe in, just to be the Devil's Advocate, just to be contradictory. And yet, when he simply agreed with everything I was doing, I just took it in stride.

And people say *he's* self-absorbed.

I've taken him on one hell of a wild ride this past week, and the only *serious* complaint he made was when I let him get his ass kicked in some gay bar parking lot. And even then, there were no arguments, no questioning my actions. Hell, *he's* the one who took care of me at the end of that little adventure. How messed up is that?

Maybe I scared him. Or pissed him off so badly that there are no words for it. I mean, how often have I ever let him see me out of control? Oh, right, never. Except for when we.

Or maybe, just maybe, he understands. Maybe he's got his own self-doubts, insecurities. And maybe he wants me to know that he is okay with all this, with me, warts and all. Like I'm okay with him. And by okay, I mean helplessly, stupidly in love with him. I can't imagine having gone through this alone. Nor can I imagine doing it with anyone else but him.

I touch his arm lightly, and he startles a bit, and then gives me what I suppose he thinks is a reassuring smile, but it looks more like a grimace.

I snap off the radio and take his hand in one smooth motion, and his smile becomes genuine, if only for a moment.

"I don't mind that song," he lies.

"It's not really to my taste," I tell him, and the look I get for that is something like one of gratitude. Again I think of all the support he's given me on this trip, and I feel like there has to be something more I can give him than this. Some way to show him what his faith and trust have done for me besides turning off some shitty pop song that has no doubt made his life miserable in the past.

I squeeze his hand harder, then release it and let my touch fall onto one denim-clad thigh. I pretend to concentrate on the road ahead, but my peripheral vision doesn't miss the widening of his smile. I recognize it as his 'I'm twelve and you just offered me a trip to the circus' smile, and I know it should make me feel better, but coupled with the fading bruises on his face, it just makes me feel even crappier.

I feel his hand cover mine, and the muscles under my fingertips relax as he leans back in his seat.

"How are you doing, puppy?" I ask him quietly, and something in my voice must alert him somehow, as the smile fades and is replaced by something keen and curious. He's in profiling mode without even realizing it, I think. He doesn't answer for a moment, and I keep my gaze firmly forward.

"I'm fine, Walter," he finally says, and his tone is soft, almost hesitant. I don't trust it.

"Fine?" I ask, and let my hand rub softly down to his knee and back up to his thigh, while his hand chases mine, catching it when I stop, and our fingers entwine.

"Fine." His tone is firmer, and he offers me a reassuring smile, and I wonder which one of us he's trying to convince. "Good. Glad to be here."

"But?"

His reply is to clutch tighter to my hand, and I'm glad for cruise control and an open patch of road, since I don't think he'd let me shift gears right now even if I wanted to.

"And they call me Spooky." He mutters this, and laughs dryly.

"Just paying attention." So far I haven't been looking at him, but I risk glancing over now, and just catch something dull and achy on his face before he covers it with that infuriating lack of expression that I recognize from a hundred budget reviews.

"It's nothing, Walter. Just a little tired, is all."

Fox Mulder saying he's a little tired is like Noah saying it's a little damp outside.

We spent most of yesterday and last night in bed. Watched TV, ate, fooled around, talked a little, fooled around a little more. Mutually decided that despite an errant madness on my part that suggested we spend the rest of our lives at the Banff Springs Hotel, preferably in bed, home was definitely where we wanted to be.

I know he's thinking about Scully. He knows I'm thinking about work. We're both thinking about the future, although I haven't got the balls to admit it, and apparently he doesn't either, because neither one of us mentions anything smacking of commitment. We know it's there, and I guess that's enough for now, although my mind keeps going back to that little jewelry store in that little town with the craft shop, and I get these thoughts.

Those thoughts can wait, I decide. Right now, my puppy is tired, and, truth be told, I'm starting to wear a little myself.

We've been driving all day. There's an unspoken sense of urgency now, unlike the trip here, which keeps us both going. No unscheduled shopping trips today, meals taken on the move, crossing the border without incident, stopping for gas only when we're practically on E. I can't explain it, and don't know if I want to. I have a sudden longing for my couch, my bed, hell, even my paperwork.

I thought homesickness was just for kids at summer camp.

With a little effort, I disengage myself from Mulder's hand, and he gives me a quizzical look. I ignore it and unfasten his seat belt.

"C'mere," I say, putting my arm around his shoulders and tugging gently.

"I thought there were seatbelt laws in this state," he counters, but I get no resistance from his body as I pull him to my side, and then push his head towards my lap.

"Are you sure about this, Walter?" his voice is muffled now, but if I look down I know I'll see a smile. "I mean, do you know what the AMA statistics are on the incidents of car crashes involving-"

"Shhh." I cut him off in mid-sentence. Part of me is dimly grateful for the roominess of the truck cab, the space between the wheel and myself. Another part is thinking about those statistics, and wondering if we want to test those odds. 

Instead, I just pet him softly, and then most of my thoughts concentrate on the way the cropped silk of his hair feels against my fingertips. Definitely a sensation I could never tire of.

"Walter.?" 

"Uncomfortable?" I ask.

"Nope." In fact, draped at the angle he is now, his legs are stretched out, and despite what I was thinking earlier about the amount of room in the truck, I realize that there probably aren't a lot of vehicles that he is completely comfortable in, with those long legs and all. I feel his agreement of this assessment as his body relaxes and becomes a little heavier. This is not a bad thing, I think.

"Good. Sleep. I'll wake you when I've found us a place to stay for the night."

When I feel his head moving under my hand, it's not an argument, nor is it an attempt to distract me from my driving. Instead, it's a jaw-stretching yawn, followed by an almost embarrassed laugh.

I relax my grip on his hair as I feel him turning his face up to me. I glance down between my legs to catch another of those 'Sally Field at the Oscars' grins from him, and again I want to feel good about his gratitude, and again part of me balks at it, thinking I owe him everything, and he owes me nothing.

I let it go as he turns back and his eyes slip shut, and then I'm just touching him again, his hair, the side of his face. I see a signpost up ahead listing potential towns, potential beds, and I pick the nearest one, making a silent wish for decent water pressure and a king-size bed.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 21: Who Needs Sleep?  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: slash  
Rating: R for violence  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 21of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: WARNING: Severe Mulder torture-or at least as severe as I can get. An apology in advance to all those people who thought this was a kinder and gentler series.

* * *

"Now I lay me down to sleep  
I just get tangled in the sheets  
I swim in sweat three inches deep  
I just lay back and claim defeat."

***

Mulder bent forward and pressed a kiss to Skinner's brow, which was furrowed in sleep. Skinner made a sound and Mulder shushed him, saying,

"Just going for a run. I won't be long."

Another sound, still sleep-muddled but more affirmative, and Mulder moved away from the bed. He checked that he had the room key tucked safely in the pocket of his running pants, then turned abruptly and left.

He was surprised at how chilly it was outside. The sun was up, barely, but it was fighting with a light fog and a cool breeze, and none of the elements seemed to be winning. He shivered a little as he stretched arms and legs in the parking lot out front of the motel, but knew he'd warm up once he began running in earnest. The weather gave him pause, though, as he realized that the long, odd summer was finally coming to an end. He didn't know how he felt about that.

Deciding for the moment that it was a problem to worry over another time, he flexed calves and thighs once more, and then took off at a slow run, letting his muscles adjust, then picking up speed as his body warmed to the task.

The fog tried to close in on him, and he played cat and mouse with it for a while, racing ahead of it, then slowing to let wispy shrouds create a soft focus landscape around him; all the while relishing the warm ache in his body and the cool air filling his lungs.

In the course of his outstanding career with the FBI, Fox Mulder had been shot, poisoned, punched, kicked, throttled, hit by a car, stabbed, bitten by snakes, exposed to radiation and alien viruses and verbally abused.

He'd never been hamstrung before.

At first it felt as though his leg had suddenly gone to sleep. There was no pain, but his ankle twisted under him, and he put his arms out with a yell, bracing himself for a fall.

"Wha-fuck?"

He caught himself well, but still felt a shuddering jolt run through his arms and shoulders, and tiny pebbles and chips of concrete from the sidewalk bit painfully into his palms.

He swore again, loudly, and rolled onto his back, then sat up to assess the damage to his leg, and find out what the hell he'd tripped over.

He wasn't prepared for the blood.

A steady flow, streaming from the back of his knee, pattering like raindrops onto the sidewalk.

The pain set in immediately and he cried out involuntarily, reaching out to cradle his hurt leg. Warm blood poured over his hand and he made another wounded sound.

The fog seemed suddenly thicker somehow, and he didn't see his assailant lunging at him until it was too late.

Had he not been hunched over his leg, he might have died right then, his throat slashed open as effectively as his leg had been. But his awkward angle saved his life, and the straight razor pulled through his arm instead.

He fell backwards with a yelp and the razor swung again, hissing through the empty air where his head had just been.

"What the hell--?"

Only silence answered him as he pulled his arm close to his chest, smearing blood over the front of his sweater. His breath was coming in short mewling gasps, and his leg was going numb. He whipped his head back and forth, eyes rolling wildly as he tried to make out what was happening. Turning onto his side, he tried to get to his feet, and found the task impossible. His leg would not respond at all, and trying to move it only brought on fresh pain intense enough to make his eyes water.

Now lying on his uninjured side, he pushed with his good arm arm, trying desperately to raise himself up, somehow, or get himself away. He didn't feel panicked, just horribly alone and cold, and some clinical detached part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Scully informed him that he was going into shock. 

He had achieved some sort of crawling, crab like movement when the next blow came. Not a slash this time, but something heavy and club like that smashed into his side with enough force to crack ribs and twist him over onto his stomach. A scream, and a second strike, this one to the base of his spine, and his motor control was reduced to nil. He squirmed in place, awash in pain, unable to make the connections between his mind and his body that would allow him to get away. He could only thrash mindlessly as neurons fired uselessly and gave him misery rather than motion.

He struggled hugely, and to no avail, calling out for help. There was no response, aside from the fog clearing just enough that he could see a figure on the sidewalk a few feet ahead of him.

Now he was panicking. Realizing the extent of his injuries, and his inability to escape had not had the power to reduce him to rabbit-in-a-snare, heart-pounding fear. But the site of Walter Skinner standing on the sidewalk ahead of him, arms tied behind his back, and a blank expression on his face.

Even in the midst of his panic, Mulder tried to understand, to rationalize, to put together what was happening. Was it another gay bashing? Was it aliens? What had caused this? How had they been found? How did Walter get here? A million unanswerable questions, clamouring for attention, blocked by his fear for the man before him, his fear for himself.

Movement behind him, but he couldn't turn to see what or who it was. Instead, he called out his lover's name, and blood flecked his lips when he yelled.

Skinner seemed not to hear him; no movement, glasses covering his eyes, making them impossible to see. 

"Walter!"

A dark shadow looming over his broken body, and Mulder cringed away from it, crying out Walter's name over and over, trying to warn him, trying to save him. 

Something that felt suspiciously like a hiking boot knocked him in the head, and he felt himself fading. Shades of gray washed agonizingly over him, and he fought, but to no avail. 

He came back to consciousness with a sick groan as he felt more than heard the sound of a body hitting the sidewalk in front of him. Forcing his eyes open, the first thing he was aware of was the blood. His own, hot and sticky under his body, then more, not his own, trickling towards him on the pavement.

"No!" he didn't want to see the rest. The shattered wire rims lying twisted next to the body. The gaping scalp wound, freshets of blood streaming from it. He was crying and screaming and struggling with a body too damaged to respond, and Walter lay unmoving in front of him.

Another crashing blow to Skinner's head, more blood splashing onto Mulder. He still couldn't make out who was doing this, but he realized it wasn't a club, wasn't a bat, wasn't your typical implement of homophobic destruction. As more blows rained down on his lover's skull, Mulder realized that the object currently turning the man's head into a bloody ruin was thick and plastic and jointed.

"Oh my god." His throat was thick with blood and tears and the words could barely pass through lips gone cold and blue, and he realized that death was here. It was all around him. His lover was dead and he was dying, and there was no good reason for it. No reason at all.

"Walter." one last time, and he looked up as their assailant approached him, apparently done with Skinner and coming back to finish the job. 

"No, please."

And then it was done, and the fog covered everything.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 22: Keep On Loving You  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: slash  
Rating: R   
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 22of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: Psyche! You know I could never hurt the boys.much.but, and I know you've all heard this before but it bears repeating-you can't have comfort without the hurt. And by comfort I mean warp core sex.

* * *

And I'm gonna keep on lovin' you  
Cos it's the only thing I wanna do  
I don't wanna sleep  
I just wanna keep on loving you

***

Mulder awoke with a startled shout as something hard and wild dealt a heavy blow to the top of his head.

"Wha-fuck--?"

He was used to rude awakenings, having been plagued with nightmares since childhood. All manner of monsters and frightening situations had tromped through the fertile garden of his imagination, from fire and isolation, to his sister's abduction and the death of loved ones.

But last night he'd slept terror free; he was sure of it.

Both he and Walter had been exhausted by the time they had stopped for the night, and it was a toss up as to who was supporting whom as they stumbled into their room. He had a vague recollection of Walter undressing him, a half-hearted minute or two of gentle kisses and petting, and then drifting off with his lover spooned up behind him, two strong arms holding him tightly in place.

He supposed he'd dreamed-everybody did-but he had no remembrance of it. No, this abrupt interruption of sleep had come from an outside source, and just as he came awake enough to try and determine just what that external stimulus had been, said external stimulus came crashing down on his nose, making him yelp.

"Hey!" Completely awake now and completely unhappy about it, Mulder turned towards his lover. The complaint poised on his lips about the Walter-Skinner-Wake-Up-Call died unspoken when he realized the other man was still asleep, though far from peacefully.

With arms thrashing and head twisting in apparent negation, Skinner was making a wretched groaning noise deep in his throat. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, but Mulder could see tears shimmering on his dark lashes.

"Walter?"

Mulder caught the hand that came flying towards him in response, and used his grip to pull himself closer to Skinner. The sleeping man struggled hugely against him, and Mulder draped himself over Skinner's trembling body, pressed kisses to his brow and cheeks, and whispered fervently to him.

"Hey! Hey, come on, Walter. Snap out of it! Come on, wake up-"

Skinner's body fishtailed under his, the groans turned into words:

"Fox! NO-O-O!"

Louder now: "Hey, big guy, come on! It's me--it's Mulder. Walter, come on, wake up, you're scaring me here."

Skinner's eyes flew open and he found himself staring at Mulder, their faces scant inches apart.

"Wha-fuck--?"

"Well, good morning to you, too," replied Mulder. "What the hell was that?"

"Fox, you're alive!"

This statement earned him a confused frown, then a careful smile.

"Yes, I am, Walter. Is that going to be a problem?"

Skinner was staring hard at him, but Mulder thought it might just be because he wasn't wearing his glasses. Then he felt Walter shudder beneath him, and suddenly the man's arms were wrapped around him, clinging in a hug which was tight, frightened and totally un-Walterish in it's intent.

"Oh my god! I thought-I thought-oh god!" He didn't seem to be able to articulate more at that moment, and Mulder didn't press. Just embraced Skinner with equal force, rested his head on one muscular shoulder, and held him through a round of body tremors that Mulder recognized from his own particular sleep disorders.

When he felt Skinner's grip on him loosen a little, Mulder lifted his head to again offer his lover a cautious grin.

"Well, guess that makes us even now. Wanna tell me what that was all about?" 

As he spoke he touched Walter's cheek tentatively, wiping away a tear that he didn't think the other man was even aware of. Skinner responded in kind, brushing his fingers over Mulder's fading bruises, then gasping when he realized there was blood under Mulder's nose.

"Oh, shit, Fox-did I do that?"

He sounded small and scared, like a child about to be punished for some unremembered misdeed, and Mulder hastened to allay his fears.

"No worries, Walter, its no big deal. I seem to recall this shoe being on the other foot more than once. What was it? Vietnam?"

Although Skinner glanced away from the inquisitive look in Mulder's eyes, he didn't hesitate in his answer.

"I wish. That would have been one hell of a lot easier than-" 

Mulder felt another shudder under him as Skinner's body grew tense, waited for those same muscles to relax, and when they didn't, he forced the other man to look at him.

"Talk to me, Walter."

"There was so much blood." his voice was the softest trace of a lost murmur, a sound Mulder never would have equated with his lover, and his gaze was distant, not seeing Mulder now, but looking into some dark place beyond him.

Mulder made a move away from him, saying, "let me get you something to drink, a-"

He never got to complete the thought. Skinner crushed him to his body, arms like a steel trap around his back, holding him so forcefully that he could scarcely breathe. 

"Walter!" he gasped, pushing at the larger man's shoulders with what little arm movement he could manage. "Oxygen is our friend."

Skinner's vice-like grip eased just enough for Mulder to draw air, then relaxed a little more when Mulder said, "Hey, s'okay, Walter, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Again Skinner turned his head, and Mulder let him have his silence, settling himself more comfortably over the rock hard body beneath him, letting one hand come up to brush lightly over his jaw, relishing the rough drag of stubble under his fingertips. He felt a clench there, and pressed a little more firmly, then dragged his caress down to the thick neck, massaging at the tension there, too. Finally, he spoke.

"You're not going to tell me about it, are you?"

"It was stupid." came the reply, and Mulder was at once both grateful and disturbed to hear his lover's signature growl. "Just a dream. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't!" Mulder growled right back, and Skinner gave him an odd look. "Don't you dare make light of this, Walter. Do you think my nightmares are stupid?"

"What? No, of course not! They-"

"Then why in the world would you belittle your own? Or think that I would belittle them? That is what you were thinking, isn't it?"

A shrug.

"You don't have to tell me, Walter. I'm your lover, not your psychiatrist. But I know from first hand experience that night terrors can be every bit as horrific as anything real life can throw at us-sometimes worse. So don't lie there and tell me it was nothing. I don't think it was nothing. It was enough of a something that you're lying here in a puddle of sweat with all your muscles suddenly turned into steel cables. And even if it was only a vision of all that paperwork you have waiting for you when we get home-" 

This earned him the first ghost of a smile.

"-even if it was something you'd call nothing-" He paused, touched Skinner's face again, and kissed him softly. "It would be something to me." Another kiss, this one longer and with more intent, and he felt the last of the nightmare bleeding out of his lover's muscles.

"I love you, Walter," he whispered.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Fox," Skinner replied. 

"Get more work done at the office?" Mulder suggested. "Cancel your maid service?" Then with a leer: "Jerk off in the bathroom?"

Skinner's laugh was a surprise to both of them. Mulder suddenly became aware of the large hands on his back, no longer clenched into fists, now spread out and stroking softly up and down the length of his body.

"Or maybe you'd find some other guy with a compulsion for the truth.and oral gratification." Another laugh, this one shared by both of them, and Skinner's hands moved a little lower.

"I could never find someone like you," Skinner replied. "I don't think I'd even want to try."

"Well, then I guess you'll be fighting Frohike for that movie collection of mine, huh?"

There was an almost predatory gleam in Skinner's eyes that Mulder didn't fail to notice.

"Not today, though."

A pause, then returning the hungry look, he replied, "No, Walter, not today."

The kiss was soft, drawn out and sweet, a slow intertwining of tongues as each man drew on the soul of the other and found exactly what he was looking for in the gentle touch of lips, the rough nip of teeth, the methodical tasting of one another.

Skinner's hands grasped Mulder's buttocks and kneaded firmly, forcing their groins into closer contact, and sparking desire through their bodies. Soft flesh grew firmer as their cocks rubbed across one another, and the kiss took on new urgency.

Mulder took Skinner's face in his hands and kissed him everywhere: nose, cheeks, eyelids, eyebrows, the center of his forehead, then ran his unshaven cheek up over bald scalp and down again to find an ear with his mouth and lick at a sensitive earlobe. Skinner's hands squeezed tighter and a moan slipped from him unbidden.

"I'm not going anywhere," Mulder whispered, his breath in the other man's ear making him shiver. He reached under Skinner's biceps and pushed his arms back, releasing himself although he had no intentions of moving just yet. He stretched out to hold Skinner's arms over his head, then began methodically licking the skin under his arms, along his sides, over his chest, relishing the sleep-sour taste of his lover. He licked and Walter groaned and tried to bring his arms down, and Mulder moved onto his nipples, biting at each one in turn until they were hard.

With a tremendous effort, Skinner reared up and flipped Mulder onto his back, climbing on top of him and grinding down on his body, running his hands through already badly tousled hair and biting at the pulse beneath his chin. Then he dropped a lick to the hollow at the base of his throat and then down, giving Mulder's nipples the same relentless treatment he'd just received. He could feel Mulder's chest heaving under his mouth, but his own harsh panting drowned the sound of his breathing out.

Mouth back on mouth, and Mulder's back arched up, instinctively begging for more contact, closer contact. 

Skinner stopped and pushed himself up with his hands, straddling Mulder's hips and looking down at eyes glazed with lust, lips swollen from fevered kisses, hair in complete disarray, and hands clenching and unclenching on the bed sheets as their hips continued to bump against one another.

He reached across Mulder for the kit on the nightstand beside the bed, vaguely remembering putting it there.just in case. He sat back with the necessary implements in his hands, and squeezed out lube, warming it in his hand, then sliding off of Mulder's body to push gently at his legs, which spread immediately upon his light touch.

With a sure and determined hand, Skinner opened Mulder carefully. It had been a while since they'd luxuriated themselves with this particular act. But as he moved first one, then two fingers inside his lover, Mulder responded with a drawn out groan of pleasure, and his legs crossed behind Skinner, trying to draw him in.

Skinner took his time, though, adding a third finger, then crooking them enough to find just the right spot, and Mulder took his verbal appreciation up a notch, punctuating moans with murmured affirmations.

"Yes, oh yes, oh, please, yes."

Skinner slipped a condom over his throbbing cock and entered Mulder. A wince, a gasp, and he paused.

"Should I stop?" His voice was rough with need. 

Mulder replied without hesitation. "Don't you fucking dare!" Then he wrapped his legs tighter around Skinner and drew him all the way in.

Skinner lunged forward with his own gasp, ensconced in tight heat, and grasped Mulder's hips, pushing his legs up higher so that he could reach his mouth again.

As his erection was trapped between their bodies and he felt the coarse hair on Skinner's stomach brush over the head, Mulder cried out and the sound was swallowed in Skinner's mouth.

The urge to thrust hard and fast was almost unbearable, but Skinner held his control and took his time, nearly pulling all the way out with each stroke, then forcing himself deeper into the willing body under him, tasting desire and love and need in every sound that Mulder made. He could feel slickness forming between their bodies as Mulder's cock slipped and slid between them, pulsing as he approached completion.

Skinner pulled out suddenly and reached for another condom. Mulder looked up, disappointment and desire warring in his eyes. Desire won as Skinner slipped the condom over Mulder's straining cock, then threw a leg over his thigh and took him inside himself with a single downward push.

He winced at the burn, but welcomed it just the same, then adjusted the angle of their bodies and Mulder pushed up into him and he thrust back.

Mulder slipped the condom off of Walter's cock and replaced the latex sheath with the hot skin of his hand. Skinner pumped into his fist, his movements in tandem with Mulder's bucking hips.

With a final lunge, Skinner pressed down on Mulder's cock, gripping tightly as his orgasm burst out of him, and he roared his release, wetting Mulder's hand and stomach and chest. Mulder laughed as the clenching muscles stroked his cock and pulled his own orgasm from him and his fingers dug into Skinner's hip, holding him tightly in place as his cock pulsed and throbbed deep inside his lover's tight body.

Skinner fell forward, barely catching himself on his arms, and Mulder's cock slipped out of him. Both men panted breathlessly into one another's faces, then, as the need for air became less urgent, their mouths touched, and they completed the circle of passion by returning to soft kisses and touches.

With a sigh, Skinner rolled off to one side and pulled Mulder into his arms. Mulder swept one hand possessively over Skinner's hip, then around to tentatively touch his backside.

"That was."he began.

"I know."

Mulder smiled and kissed the tip of Skinner's nose.

"Please tell me that wasn't just a road trip aberration."

Skinner smiled at him in return and pressed his lips to his brow.

"I can't wait to get you home," he replied.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Ch. 23: I'm Coming Home  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: slash  
Rating: S for Shmoop or G for Gawd, that gave me cavities!  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: some season 8, Existence mostly, little ones for Empedocles and Je Souhaite, I'll let ya know if there's anything else.  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: it's chapter 23 of 24, guess that makes it a series  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: You knew it had to come to an end sometime, folks-just the epilogue left after this. A long chapter, but a heartfelt homecoming takes a few extra words. WARNING: shmoop of biblical proportions!

* * *

"Hi honey, we're home!" Mulder exclaimed, knocking once on the door, then pushing it open with no further preamble.

"Mulder!" The pretty redhead launched herself at her former partner, fairly leaping across the room and into his waiting arms. So exuberant was her welcome that she nearly knocked him into Skinner, who was standing closely behind him.

"Whoa, Scully, I missed you, too." And as his arms went around her, he realized just how true that statement was.

He hugged her tight, and she reached up to press a fervent kiss to his lips.

When Mulder straightened up, Scully seemed to notice Skinner for the first time, and she easily extended her warm smile of welcome to include him.

"Walter; welcome home. You didn't feed him to the goats."

Her words dissipated any discomfort he had been feeling as he had played witness to the Mulder/Scully dynamic.

Scully shoved Mulder gracelessly into the living room, still smiling at Walter, then reached up to put her arms around the older man. He smiled and returned the hug a little awkwardly.

"No," he replied softly, "I didn't feed him to the goats."

"I'm glad."

"Hello! Potential 'goat food' still in the room." Mulder mock whined, and Scully and Skinner turned to him with matching grins.

Scully reached him first, looked like she might hug him again, then brought her hand up to cup the side of his face.

"When did you get back?"

"This morning. We only stopped twice the whole way back. I think my ass is chafed from that damned truck seat, and I'm surprised we didn't wind up in a ditch somewhere."

"Oh, Mulder-"

"I wouldn't have let that happen, Dana." Walter said gruffly, sounding almost offended that either one of them would suggest that he couldn't take care of Mulder.

Mulder moved quickly back to the door, where Walter was still standing, holding a large shopping bag and toeing off his shoes.

"Of course you wouldn't, big guy," he whispered as he brushed a kiss across his cheek and relieved him of the bag.

Scully interrupted smoothly, asking, "Have you eaten?"

Skinner saw a quick flash of guilt cross his lover's face, and he realized that he wasn't the first person to ever nag Mulder over his poor eating habits.

"We crashed as soon as we got in. Then we got up, made ourselves presentable for mixed company, and here we are," Mulder explained.

"Well, I was just going to order pizza, but you guys are more than welcome to stay-in fact, I insist on it."

"Are you still ordering from Triple Eight?"

Skinner didn't understand why Mulder sounded both amused and suspicious, or why Scully was suddenly blushing.

A muted cry from the bedroom interrupted the moment.

"Saved by the bell," said Scully.

"His master's voice," said Mulder.

Scully left the room, and Mulder sat down on the couch. He patted the cushion next to him and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Skinner rolled his eyes, but didn't hesitate to sit down next to Mulder, who immediately rearranged himself to fit comfortably in the curve of Walter's arm.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"About what?"

"Scully and I. Sometimes we get a little self-absorbed."

"It's understandable."

>From the other room came another cry, this one sounding petulant and demanding, and then they could hear Scully making soothing noises.

"Billy-Boy there sounds suspiciously surly," said Mulder.

Skinner frowned. "Why do I get the idea that was aimed at me?"

Mulder grinned and snuggled in closer.

"Well, he's got your looks, why should it come as such a surprise that he has your demeanor?"

"I'm not the father, Mulder." He spoke slowly and with emphasis, as if addressing a not-particularly-bright child.

"Maybe not," Mulder replied. "But you were the butchest thing in the closest proximity to the fetus. That has to count for something." He tipped his head back and grinned saucily.

Skinner gave him a skeptical look.

"Masculinity through osmosis?"

"There are precedents for it in nature, Walter. The poisonous frogs of Southern Sri Lanka, for example."

Skinner knew he was being played, and opted to go along with it, feeling too good to do otherwise.

"Only one problem with your theory, Doctor Mulder," he said.

"And what would that be, *Mister* Skinner?"

"You."

"Me?"

I can think of one or two examples of "close proximity" that should have turned you into a construction worker by now, instead of the man who, if memory serves me, got all misty-eyed over a Pedigree commercial tonight."

"Ah, nice. Abuse." Mulder gave him his best pout. "What happened to 'I love you, Puppy', or 'I can't live without you, Puppy', or-"

Skinner leaned in close and whispered harshly in his ear. "Tighten that ass, Puppy."

It was so unexpected, so completely out of character for the older man, that for a moment, Mulder was at a total loss for words and could only blink stupidly, mouth agape. Skinner hugged him tightly, laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

Mulder pushed his arms off of him, trying to look stern and disgusted, but not quite pulling it off.

"Tighten--?! Christ, Walter, I don't know if I'm more offended by your incredibly bad Jeff Stryker impression, or by the implication of your words."

"Who's Jeff Stryker?"

This comment earned him a sharp poke in the ribs as Mulder tried to scoot away from him. Quick to recover, though, Skinner wrapped him in a bear hug, which he kept up despite Mulder's increased struggles.

"Let me go!" Outrage and laughter mixed in his voice. "Asshole! I mean it!"

"Now who's surly?" Skinner was laughing too. "Maybe you did absorb some testosterone after all."

"Shut up!"

"Next thing you know, you'll be losing your hair."

"Oh, man, that's it! I know someone who's sleeping on the couch tonight, Walter, and for a change, it's not gonna be me!"

"Ooh, tough puppy! Am I supposed to feel threatened?" As he spoke, he experimented with combining hugs and tickles and Mulder yelped and laughed and swore.

"Aah!! You want threats, you bastard? Do the words 'worst case of blue balls in the universe' mean anything to you?" With a mighty lunge, Mulder jerked himself out of Skinner's embrace. Unfortunately, such was the strength it took to escape that he found himself flying right off the couch to land on the floor, ass first, with a thud.

Skinner was red-faced with laughter; he doubled over when Mulder hit the floor; and he was nearly hysterical when Mulder looked up from his dubious position at Scully, who was grinning at him while William simply goggled sleepily in her arms.

Scully tried to frown, managed to arch an eyebrow.

"Blue balls, Mulder?"

No reply was going to save him, and he knew it. So he simply glowered at Skinner, who had removed his glasses to wipe away tears of mirth, tried to ignore the heated blush he could feel staining his cheeks, and slowly stood, pulling the shreds of his dignity around himself and focusing his attention on the one innocent in the room.

"Hey, Billy, how you doin'?" He and Scully exchanged a look, and she carefully placed the baby in his arms.

"There's juice in the fridge for him," Scully told him. "And wine for us. Why don't you help him, Walter, and I'll get the pizza ordered.

"That sounds good, Dana." Skinner stood up and moved in behind Mulder, paused to smile down at William, then whispered in his lover's ear. "Forgive?"

"Blue balls, Skinman. Don't forget it." But his tone was teasing.

***

Hours later, Skinner poured the last of a third bottle of wine into Scully's glass, and Mulder was poking about the shattered debris of supper, making sure he hadn't overlooked an errant mushroom. William sat contentedly in his playpen, his attention flipping back and forth between his new stuffed dog and the novelty of his own toes. A fire burned low and comforting in the fireplace, and some odd seventies soundtrack murmured in the background.

".and I've seen blue skies, through the tears in my eyes, and I realize."

"Thank you, Walter." Scully sipped her wine and thought she should feel drunk, but felt content instead. Content, and full. "I am never going to get my figure back," she complained half-heartedly to no one.

Walter set the empty bottle on the coffee table, and sat down on the couch, reaching out one hand to rest on Mulder's shoulder. The younger man sat back against Skinner's legs with a sigh.

"What are you talking about, Scully? You look great," he said.

"Flatterer." She seemed pleased with the compliment, though.

With the suddenness of the very young or very drunk, William tipped himself over with a thump and let out a startled yelp. Scully stood up immediately, but Skinner beat her to the playpen. William was wailing loudly now, until Walter picked him up with practiced ease, saying "Hey, what's the problem here, little guy?"

William blinked solemnly at him, and gave a last uncertain cry, and Skinner wiped a tear off of one soft pink cheek.

"I think somebody's getting tired," said Scully.

"Maybe a little, but I'm fine," replied Mulder. Scully laughed and both she and Skinner rolled their eyes.

"I should put him down for the night. He doesn't always sleep through, but I think we've worn him out." She moved forward to take the baby from Skinner, but he waved her away.

"Sharon and I never quite made the parental leap, but I think I can probably tuck in one tired little boy." At this he glanced over at Mulder, who nodded a sarcastic thanks to this latest cheap shot. Then holding the baby close to his chest, he scooped up William's newest toy, and turned down the hallway. William looked back at his mother and Mulder over Walter's shoulder, and raised one chubby hand in a sleepy wave.

Mulder and Scully exchanged a surprised smile.

"Cute kid," Mulder deadpanned.

"I never knew, Mulder. Not with Bill's kids, not even with Emily. I never knew how it would really feel. And now." She paused, and Mulder could have sworn she was glowing. Then she seemed to come back to herself, and a little spark of mischief snuck into her smile.

"So, Mulder, camping in Canada. What's next-snorkeling in Lake Okobogee? Maybe dune buggy racing at Area 51?"

Mulder laughed, then leaned forward, and spoke almost too low for Scully to hear.

"I'd do it if he wanted to."

Scully didn't reply right away. Instead, she got up from her chair and sat down on the couch instead. Mulder got up from the floor and joined her.

"Is he all right?" Scully asked. "Did he find whatever it was he needed to find?"

"I think we both did, Scully," he replied. He suddenly looked thoughtful, and Scully put her tiny hand in his. "It's like you and William," he continued, "I thought I knew what we had, what was going on, what I was supposed to be feeling. But now." He squeezed her hand and she smiled encouragingly at him. "Jesus, Scully, I really love him."

"He's been good for you, Mulder," she replied.

"Why do I have this incredible urge to say "he completes me" while Bruce Springsteen plays softly in the background." He grinned almost sheepishly.

"Because I made you watch that movie ten times when I bought it."

"If you start quoting Caddyshack, Scully, I'm taking back the presents."

They shared a laugh, and then he sobered again and quietly said, "We're going to find a house."

"Oh, Mulder, I'm so happy for you." Scully let go of his hand and hugged him instead.

When she released him, they sat quietly together for a moment, savoring each others victories in their 'best-friends-no-need-for-words' way. The moment ended when Scully yawned.

"Sorry, Mulder, it's not the company," she said.

"No, I'm sorry. You must be beat. I may not know about the joys of parenthood, but I suspect Billy there probably has you going 24-7." He stood up. "I'll go get the man, and we'll get outta here."

"I'm not so tired," she lied, and another yawn gave her away.

"Yeah, right." He gave her a warm look, and for just a moment she remembered a completely self-absorbed maverick agent who would never have given her sleep requirements a second thought. Or his own, for that matter, and she said a silent thank you to the man who had brought about this fundamental healthy change in her friend.

"Sorry, what?" She realized he'd spoken while she was woolgathering, and she'd missed it.

"I said, do you want to have lunch tomorrow? It's still supposed to be nice out. Maybe we could take William to the park."

"Maybe hit the quitting bench?" she asked.

He laughed. "Sure. We'll give Billy the X-Files tour of Washington." He left the room on the soft wave of her laughter.

***

Mulder stopped in the doorway of the bedroom and smiled fondly at the scene before him.

Skinner was leaning over the crib, apparently fussing with blankets and sheets, and Mulder suspected he was checking for hospital corners. The baby was making soft, contented noises, and Mulder thought he knew exactly how he felt.

"There you go, baby." Skinner was speaking quietly, and Mulder leaned forward a little to hear him. "Bottle, check. Puppy, check. Fresh diaper, double check. That should keep you through the night." A pause, and he did something that made William giggle, then his tone took on something soft and serious that made Mulder take notice.

"You don't know how good you've got it here, William," he said. "You've got food, clothing, shelter, all free, I might add. You've got a mother who loves you very, very much. And you've even got two uncles who are going to spoil you rotten." Mulder could hear the smile in his voice. "You're a very special little boy," he continued. "And you don't ever forget that. Life isn't always kind, although I hope it's a very long time before you have to find that out. I wish it wasn't so, but it is. Not everyone is going to be your friend. Not everyone is going to be honest with you, or kind, or even give a damn. But when that happens, I want you to remember this: You have a mother who is good and honest and kind and will do anything she has to for the people she loves. For you."

Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat.

"And your Uncle Fox. Oh, boy, you couldn't ask for better. Know this, William: You have an uncle who is going to be there for you, no matter the cause. He'll believe in you, fight for you, care for you like no one else. You might not even realize it. Hell, you might even resent it. But in the end, you'll find out there's no one else like him. And no matter what people might tell you about him, or about both of us, I suppose, I just hope you come to realize what you've got." A pause. "Like I did." Another pause, and the baby broke the silence with a burp.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." The humour was back in Skinner's voice. He bent down and gave William a kiss. "Just remember not to call him Fox."

Tears threatening, Mulder backed away before he could be discovered. As he headed back to the living room, he swiped at his eyes and rearranged his expression into something less emotional, although he couldn't completely hide the smile in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Title: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Epilogue: Morning Train  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category: slash  
Rating: H for Happy Ending  
Status: Done like dinner, honey  
Spoilers: none  
Archive: Anywhere, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: The end of How I Spent My Summer Vacation  
Beta: none, but all suggestions are welcome.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: Give me a happy ending, every time.Thanks to all of you, and you know who you are, who came along on the journey with Puppy and Badger, your constant feedback is treasured.

* * *

SIX MONTHS LATER:

Walter Skinner walked into his house, and immediately thought his cat was being killed, then discovered he was mistaken when he nearly tripped over said cat where it lay sprawled on the floor, soaking up the last sunbeam of the day. He did a clumsy dance to recover his balance and avoid stepping on the fat orange tabby, and received a baleful glare and a hiss for his efforts. Then the cat stretched mockingly, and sauntered off in the direction of the aquarium in the living room.

The ongoing battle between Walter's two favorite furry woodland creatures had escalated to the Mollie-eating stage, with the result being Walter playing reluctant referee between a feline with a taste for sushi, and a fox who thought said feline should *be* sushi.

The sound of cats being strangled continued, even after Walter had established his pet's safety. He kicked off his shoes, and then suddenly grinned, recognizing the sound. He tossed aside his coat and briefcase and could make out words:

"My baby takes the morning train, he works from nine to five and then, he takes another home again, to find me waiting for him."

Shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie, Walter moved through the living room, knocked the cat off the shelf where it was sitting, patiently torturing the contents of Mulder's aquarium, and carried on into the hallway. He left his tie on the thick cream-coloured carpet, a behavior modification within himself that simultaneously pleased and annoyed him.

"He takes me to the movies, to a restaurant. We go slow dancin', anything he wants."

He stopped at the entrance to what had originally been designated the office, or the den, but was now simply Mulder's Room. A wave of deja vu so powerful it nearly made him dizzy swept over him as he looked around the room.

On the far wall, a familiar fuzzy UFO poster, slightly dog-eared now, proclaiming "I Want To Believe", and marked with a sticky note proclaiming "You Are Here" over the supposed space ship. Next to it, unremarkable metal shelves nearly groaned under the weight of a plethora of books, files, magazines, videos and DVDs. Similar shelves lined another wall, but held less important-looking items of a more personal nature that ranged from a basketball badly in need of some air to a tiny white porcelain vase holding two dried roses. The shelves on the third wall were wooden and sturdy, and were home to a variety of electronics, including a small stereo unit, a combination TV and VCR, and piles of random junk and wires that could possibly be used to build a robot, if anyone was so inclined.

Fox Mulder sat at a desk in the middle of the chaos with his back to the door, using a stylus on a computer screen, wearing expensive headphones and singing for all he was worth:

".he works all day, to earn his pay, so we can play all night!"

Walter's grin intensified. He quelled an immediate desire to end the terribly off-key rendition of Sheena Easton's early eighties pop classic just long enough to unbutton and roll up his shirt sleeves, then he stepped into the room, moving quietly, although Mulder remained oblivious to him.

"My baby takes the morning train, he works so hard-AAK!"

A ferocious bear hug from his lover cut Mulder off in mid-note, caused him to drop the stylus, and made him jump. Two strong arms kept him firmly in his seat, but his sudden movement made the headphones twist and sit askew on his head. An ear was revealed and Skinner swooped in to nibble at it while Mulder struggled in his embrace.

"Jesus, Walter, you scared the crap outta me!" he exclaimed, struggling less as Skinner bit at his sensitive earlobe, then nuzzled the soft skin behind it.

"Don't give up your day job, puppy," he whispered, giving Mulder's ear a final lick and letting up his grip on the other man. Mulder spun his chair around, removed the headphones and tossed them onto the desk, then stood up and put his arms around Skinner.

"I didn't expect you home so early." He left the rest of his thoughts unspoken, but he couldn't hide the frown or the blush staining his cheeks, and Skinner couldn't help but smile at his discomfort.

"I'll make you a deal: I promise I won't tell Scully about this secret obsession with eighties bubblegum pop, and you promise not to try and sing. I thought you were killing my cat when I came in." He softened the words with a lingering kiss, and Mulder reciprocated enthusiastically, although when Skinner stepped back, his lover still had to have the last word, even if said word was a little breathless.

"Speaking of which, Walter, he fished the diver out of the tank three times today! I swear, I'm going to send him to Hop Sing's if-"

Skinner cut him off with another kiss, adding a firm body rub to the proceedings, and by the time he was finished, the cat could have been wearing a goldfish necklace and rumba dancing in the empty tank for all Mulder could have cared.

"So." Skinner fought to control his own breathing, marveling at how, even after all this time, all they'd been through, this man could still do this to him, still bring out hidden reserves of passion in him that he thought would be quelled by domestic life. "So," he tried again, "how's the work?"

Mulder shrugged and turned back to the forgotten computer, saying, "I think this semester will be a little better. The new students seem genuinely interested in the curriculum, and not just hearing a bunch of 'spooky' stories." He shut down the computer and pushed his chair in, then took Skinner by the hand and tugged him towards the door.

Skinner allowed himself to be led back to the living room, ignored Mulder's "tsk" of disapproval at the way his things were strewn about, and pulled his lover into his arms when Mulder sat him down on the couch.

Another oxygen-stealing kiss, this one involving undoing a few more shirt buttons, but this time Mulder pulled back first, his eyes going to the end of the couch, where the cat was perched, deliberately digging his claws into the arm of the couch and giving them a malicious look.

"Max hates me," he complained.

"You tried to sell him to the delivery boy last time we had Thai."

"It was a joke."

"I don't think Max found it funny." Skinner's smile gentled his words. He reached behind himself, found one of the throw cushions and targeted the cat. Max flew off the arm of the couch with a yowl that bespoke more of wounded pride than wounded tail, and fled the room with the sound of Mulder's laughter chasing after him.

Mulder smiled at Walter and said, "Thanks."

"Consider it a gift."

"For what?"

"Congratulations, Fox Mulder. You have officially been living in sin with an older man for-" he paused dramatically, "Six months. Today." He took Mulder's left hand with his own and relished the tiny sound their matching rings made as they touched.

"Oh, crap. I didn't-"

"Don't borrow guilt, puppy," Walter admonished gently. "Remember, I'm the sentimentalist in this family."

Mulder still looked faintly unhappy. "So what does that make me?"

"The wanton sex slave with a heart of gold, of course," Skinner replied, grinning lecherously.

"Nice. Thank you, Walter." Mulder's tone was sarcastic, but a part of him took the comment as praise, and he couldn't be angry. After a moment, he grinned wickedly at his lover and declared, "I didn't buy you anything."

"Fox, I don't expect-"

Mulder put his hand over Walter's mouth, still smiling, and said, "I'll just have to improvise." He pushed Walter back on the couch and slithered into the older man's arms.

"My mother always said home made gifts were the best kind." He removed Skinner's glasses gently, set them on the coffee table, and then went to work on the rest of Walter's shirt buttons with single minded determination.

"Fox-" Whatever protest Skinner was going to make was smothered by a moan as Mulder found a nipple to lick and bite. He continued playing with buttons while he sucked and bit at Skinner's chest until his shirt was wide open, then he moved lower, tasting the flesh of his lover's stomach while his hands made short work of Skinner's pants.

"Fox-"he said again, the word coming out groaning and harsh as Mulder's clever hands, those hands that he had surreptitiously admired for so long, the long strong fingers and smooth palms, those hands were lifting his hips, sliding his briefs off of him to tangle around his ankles with his pants, and cradling his ass as Mulder slid to the floor and took his hardening cock in his mouth.

There was no prelude, no hesitation, no subtle licks or kisses. Mulder simply eased himself all the way down Walter's penis, slowly but with the same deliberation with which he'd removed the older man's clothes, then back up until he held only the head trapped between lips swollen from earlier kisses. He looked up at Skinner then, eyes wide and dark with all the passion and all the love he knew how to convey, and Walter gasped aloud at what he saw shining there. Then Mulder tipped his head back down and resumed his slow, thorough sword-swallower imitation, and Skinner could only groan again and reach for his lover's head.

Mulder pulled his hands out from under Skinner's body and caught the older man's fingers before they could tangle in his hair. He gripped Walter's hands like a drowning man, holding them down to either side of his body, and used only his mouth on Skinner's raging erection, sucking harder as he held the man firmly in his mouth. He worked his tongue, his teeth, his throat, and Skinner's cock grew and twitched in response.

A final lunge, and he held himself firmly in place. Skinner's hips came up off the couch, and the press of his cock at the back of his throat made Mulder swallow reflexively again and again. He clutched Walter's hands tightly with his own and pressed his tongue firmly to the underside of Walter's cock. He felt the first warm spurt bathe his throat and he sucked greedily as Walter repeatedly thrust into his mouth, moaning and crying out his name.

Only when he felt Walter softening in his mouth did he let up his grip, both with his mouth and with his hands. Now came the gentle licks and kisses that Walter was used to, only now they were not a precursor, but rather a tender finish to an ultimate act, not just of lust, but of love too.

Mulder reversed himself and licked his way back up his lover's body, loving the feel of Walter's muscles jumping and sizzling under his knowing tongue like water on hot coals. When he reached the man's large chest and lapped at a nipple, he felt Walter's arms come up around him and drag him up so that they were face to face, with Walter lying sprawled out on the couch, and Mulder half on and half off it. Mulder grinned into his lover's dark glazed eyes.

"Wanton sex slave says 'Happy Anniversary, Master.'"

He felt the rumble of laughter in the body beneath him, and tasted it with a soft open-mouthed kiss, then tucked his head under Skinner's chin and whispered, "I love you."

"You're heart of gold is showing, wanton sex slave," Walter replied.

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

Skinner thought he should reciprocate, Mulder had a stray thought about what they should have for supper, but both of them were simply content to lie together for the moment, knowing that there was no rush, that there would be time enough, strength enough and love enough to see them through. A lifetime to share together.

THE END.

  
Archived: November 05, 2001 


End file.
